


Dynasty

by Mostly_Harmony



Series: Throne [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Narcissa Malfoy, Spies & Secret Agents, Tattooed Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 50,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mostly_Harmony/pseuds/Mostly_Harmony
Summary: Cowardice has always been as much a Malfoy trait as arrogance or power... but when Draco witnesses his own father stripped of all pride, despite his allegiance to the Dark Lord he knows he can’t just keep a low profile until the war ends, he has to truly choose sides. He would prefer to run away, however, he has seen what happens to those who flee; and the prospect of slow torture and a gruesome death is scarier than staying put. In the grounds of Malfoy Manor he finds a way to carve out a place of refuge and training for a rabble of child-werewolves. But every step he takes he risks exposing his true loyalties and the unexpected and growing connection he has with Harry Potter...





	1. Cubsitter

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Text Talk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651109) by [merlywhirls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlywhirls/pseuds/merlywhirls). 



> Most of these characters are the property of JK Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic, I'm just borrowing them for a bit... In some sections I use wording and plot directly from HPDH, but there is a lot of canon divergence. Some dialogue and phrasing comes from Robin Lafevers book Mortal Heart... This fic is basically a remix of those two books, inspired by lyrics from Bring Me The Horizon and other artists...

Wait! There's never been a mess like this  
Oh, no more hands to hold  
When the page turns tomorrow with the hurt to give up  
Curse us as God has (sold us)  
Believe me, Hell has no room for your crime here  
So beat me, till the blood and the bone finds our end near  
Bye, bye world, or will our hope still hold on?  
Boy, you're never going see  
The things that will come of these (days)

So march to the drumming, show them you're coming  
You've been their play toy  
Cut to the carving  
Bleed them 'til robbing  
Enough! They'll take no more  
You've been given all the power, boy  
Now go and make your move

~ Coheed and Cambria ~ ‘No World for Tomorrow’

———

For most of the residents of Wiltshire the summer was passing by in a warm and pleasant haze. There were a few disturbing stories in the district: strange events, disappearances, arson and disturbances, but overall it was a normal summer for most. The few witches and wizards in the area, barred their doors and windows with protective enchantments, or left the county altogether. But for the residents of Malfoy Manor, fleeing wasn’t an option. There were a few that tried; the ones who changed their minds, who didn’t want to participate in Voldemort’s war after all, who thought that they might get away.

The torturous fate of those who fled, Draco thought would deter any others, but only the other day another witch had disappeared. Adriunna. Adri was one of Narcissa’s oldest friends, and she and Draco were dreading the moment she was dragged back to the Manor by Voldemort’s trackers. At least, Draco reflected, he had very little time to dwell on his worries or fears, for his Task was consuming every ounce of energy he possessed.

He still remembered with a shudder, the last full moon: trapped in the basement with a dozen underage werewolves undergoing their first transformation. It hadn’t been pretty. Especially since they had all undergone a month of beatings and neglect before they were passed into his care. The memory of their small faces, bruises stark on pale skin, wide eyes full of fury and terror, would stay with him forever. He was still grateful for the Wolfsbane that allowed him to remain conscious of everything that happened, but it also meant the events of that week merged into his nightmares to join the slew of other dark recollections.

As soon as that night was over, he had set to work, creating a place for them outside the Manor House and deep in the grounds. The woods around Malfoy Manor were extensive, and tucked away in one section was an ancient gameskeeper house that was barely able to accomodate the thirty werewolves that Draco took there with him.

While things were certainly becoming more bearable, and manageable out there, as the month went on, there was never a quiet moment. “Ellen! Xander! Stop it!!” Draco shouted at two of his charges who were circling each other with vicious snarls of anger and frustration.

The children turned guiltily when they heard Draco’s voice but Ellen was unrepentant, pointing at her nemesis with certain authority, “Xander started it! He’s always poking fun at me,” she peered out at Draco from under white blonde hair that would have marked her as a Malfoy if she had had even a drop of Magical blood in her veins.  
“That’s not true! You’re always trying to get me in a fight, cause you’re good at grappling! You just want to show off!”  
“Enough!” Draco said, commandingly. “Ellen, go and help Kirby with the fencing. Xander, come with me.”  
Thinking that Xander was in trouble, the little blonde nine year old, stuck out her tongue and flounced away to find Kirby.

“Come on, Xander,” Draco motioned in the other direction at a section of incomplete fencing. “You can help me with some building.”

As he directed the child to move and hold supplies that he would then secure in place magically, he felt the familiar wave of anger and grief that these Muggle children had been ripped out of their own world, and conscripted into the terror of a war that wasn’t their own. Draco’s own childhood had been a sheltered one, he had always felt loneliness following him like a shadow, but had told himself that he was glad to be an only child and have his parents’ complete attention, devotion, and eventually inherit all of their fortune.

If he had had to acknowledge any of his emotions now he would have attributed his fierce protectiveness and familial sense of responsibility to the ‘cubs’ as some kind of strange side effect of a warped werewolf pack instinct. He was grateful that the rest of the inhabitants of the Manor viewed his banishment into the woods with the cubs, as a humiliating assignment intended as punishment rather than reward. When he was called up to meetings at the Manor, he was now referred to derisively as ‘Cubsitter’, and dismissed with very little probing into how he was going about his training of the rabble of nine and ten year old werewolves.

Watching the way Xander bit his lip, using his wolfish strength to carry a load of heavy mesh wire with a thread of goblin-wrought steel running along the top and bottom of it. Draco resisted the urge he felt to assist his young helper with the task, and waited, face impassive, until the wire was in place. Raising his wand he began to work at spreading the wire between the metal poles that they had erected the day before. He was determined that there would be secure fencing of an area at least two acres in diameter, before the full moon, for their next transformation.

There was a crack and Mitsy, one of the oldest house-elves appeared to his right. “Master Draco, Mitsy is to tells Master Draco to come. They gathers in the Blue Drawing Room, ‘tis time Master Draco.”

Draco turned to Xander, “take word to Derve, and Kirby, I’ve been called up to the Manor,” he said grimly. “Accio Nimbus 2001.” The broom came flying through the air into his hand and Draco mounted it with a panicked beating like wings in his chest urging him to fly in the opposite direction.

By the time he reached the Drawing Room, Severus Snape was already speaking, ““My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall.”

Draco stiffened, checking his Occlumency shields over for gaps, not daring to let a single drop of fear seep through his shield.

“Saturday … at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.  
“Good. Very good. And this information comes –“  
“ – from the source we discussed,” said Snape.  
“My Lord.”  
Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape. All faces turned to him.  
“My Lord, I have heard differently.”  
Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, “Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen.”

Snape was smiling.  
“My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible.”  
“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain,” said Yaxley.  
“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain,” said Snape. “I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry.”  
“The Order’s got one thing right, then, eh?” said a squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there around the room.

“Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy –“  
Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.  
“Where are they going to hide the boy next?”  
“At the home of one of the Order,” said Snape. “The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest.”

“Well, Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. “Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”  
Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulders.  
“My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have – with difficulty, and after great effort – succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”  
Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbor, Amycus Carrie, a man with malicious, harsh features, clapped him on the back.

“It is a start,” said Voldemort. “But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister’s life will set me back a long way.”

“Yes – my Lord, that is true – but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.”

“As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest,” said Voldemort. “At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels.”

“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. “We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately.”

“He will not do either,” said Snape. “The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place.”

“All the better,” said Voldemort. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far. I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs.”

The company around the room watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter’s continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them.

“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.”  
At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Everyone looked towards the door, where the sound had come from.

“Wormtail,” said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, “will you not retrieve our friends?”  
“Yes, m-my Lord,” gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver.

There was silence for a moment, “while we wait for him to return, Cubsitter, why don’t you give us a brief update.”  
Draco swallowed and moved a little further into the light. “I’m still in the process of building an outside enclosure, my Lord. I intend to experiment with training the... the cubs— at the next full moon, whilst in their werewolf form... using wolfsbane, to hone their skills... but perhaps—“ his words dried in his throat, as he saw the eleven people being led into the room by Wormtail.

He had been expecting Adri. He had been preparing himself to keep an unreadable, emotionless outer facade while witnessing her torture or death. He was completely unprepared to for the sight of his father shuffling into the room where he had once sat enthroned in his favourite chair, commanding everyone around him with complete authority.

His previously platinum blonde hair had grown stringy and grey, his shoulders stopped, there was heavy stubble across his jaw and a blankness to his eyes that was as terrifying for Draco as the furious gleam in Voldemort’s. “That will do Cubsitter, your strategy is satisfactory, perhaps you can make yourself and your pack of brats useful to me...”

He stood and walked slowly towards the newly arrived wizards... “Ah, here they are, returned to us from Azkaban at last: the Lestrange brothers, Crabbe, Mulciber, Dolohov, Jugson, Macnair, Avery, Rookwood, Nott and Malfoy...” he acknowledged each one, his voice a quiet purr of menace.  
“As I was saying, to the others,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now, what is required to kill Potter. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you.”  
The line of broken faces before him displayed a sudden surge of emotion; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“After all, I have freed you from prison, have I not? Reunited you with the wands that were taken from you...It would only be a show of gratefulness and devotion to give me your wand...No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see … Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.  
“My Lord?”  
“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”  
“I …”  
Malfoy glanced across the room at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, her slim fingers clasped together. She would not meet his gaze, and it drifted then, to where Draco stood, stricken. His eyes locked on his son, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.  
“What is it?”  
“Elm, my Lord,” whispered Malfoy.  
“And the core?”  
“Dragon – dragon heartstring.”  
“Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his wand and compared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort’s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.  
“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”  
Some of the throng sniggered.  
“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I l notice that you seem less than happy … What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing – nothing, my Lord!”  
“Such lies Lucius … Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”  
“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it – we do.”  
Narcissa made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted.  
“My Lord,” said a dark woman to her right, her voice constricted with emotion, “it is an honor to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”

She stood beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa stood rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.

“No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”  
Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight.  
“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”  
“No higher pleasure … what about another heir in the family?”  
She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused.  
“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”  
“I’m talking about your sister, Narcissa. She has only borne one child, and he is so much like his father... he is an unfortunate disappointment. Not to mention his new status as a creature rather than wizard. I believe she should be given the opportunity to conceive another heir to carry on your family...”

There was an outbreak of murmuring from around the room. Many leaned towards each other with eager looks; a few called out suggestions regarding who would be best to father the newest heir, jubilant at Bellatrix and the Malfoys’ humiliation. Bellatrix’s face, so recently flushed wit happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.  
“My sister’s offspring mean nothing to me, my Lord,” she cried over the outpouring of mirth. “I – I – am only concerned with your victory and your glory.”

“What about you, Cubsitter?” asked Voldemort. “Would you appreciate a half brother or sister? Now that you are unfit to continue your family line?  
Scornful laughter ensued; Draco looked in horror at his mother, who was staring down now, frozen in fear.

“Hmmm,” said Voldemort. “None of you seem enthusiastic, but then again, sometimes decisions must be made for the greater good. From now on Narcissa, your primary task will be to conceive a pureblood wizard for our cause, Amycus, Yaxley, Travers, Wormtail, you may all be the first to assist her in working towards this. Tomorrow night we shall decide on the next four wizards to assist, and so on.”

There was a sudden movement as Lucius Malfoy gave a roar of fury and snatched Rookwood’s wand, aiming at Voldemort. But before he could cast a spell, Voldemort had turned the dragon heartstring wand on him. With a lazy “Avada Kedavra” and a bolt of green light, Draco’s father lay lifeless on the ground.


	2. The Galleon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Draco_  
>  ———

So just like that you're fucking dead and gone  
You can only wear a crown of thorns for so long  
We built an empire and you took the throne  
But you built it from bayonets and sat there alone

You won't miss the water,  
Till the river runs dry  
You won't miss the sunset,  
Till it burns out the sky  
You won't miss what you have,  
Till it's finally lost  
But you don't miss a bastard,  
When you're bearing his fucking cross

Well, truth be told  
I'm a little bit gutted  
I mean you were always a prick,  
But we still seemed to love you  
We started this together and it should have stuck  
But there's no room for a useless, miserable fuck

~ Bring Me The Horizon ~ ‘Blacklist’

———

There was a roaring sound in Draco’s ears, and a throbbing in his head, not entirely caused by the rush of wind as he flew his broom in and out of the orderly trees in the Orchard. Leaning forward he pushed himself harder and faster, continuing his loop with a determined fury and fear as though the Dark Lord himself were chasing him. He needed to go back to the cubs, there was so much to be done before he could fall into an exhausted slumber, but he couldn’t bear to stop. If his physical motion ceased he was sure that his emotions would spill out in weeping tears of rage and cowardice.  
Even as he berated himself for being unable to act and fight for his mother’s honour and safety, an inner part of him screamed that it shouldn’t be his job to protect them — why had his parents not protected him? How was it that Lucius Malfoy was willing to die in an ineffectual bid to prevent his wife from being degraded and harmed, and yet he had stood stoically by when his only son was thrown to the depredations of the werewolves.

“Fucking bastard!” He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the Dark Lord or his own father, but either way, the wind grabbed his words and threw them away.

Eventually, what brought him back to the ground was the familiar warming coin in the hidden pocket of his singlet under his robes. At approximately the same time every day he had this contact with Potter, and while he wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, it was these strange and stilted conversations were keeping him sane.

Fishing the Galleon out of its hiding place he sank down under the nearest apple tree. Instead of the usual serial number that usually encircled the coin there were now a series of tiny cramped words that would remain there for an hour, or until Draco changed his own coin to send a message back.

**Rita Skeeter is such a LIAR!!**

_Ah, you read the Daily Prophet then..._

**Potter-Dumbledore relationship?? Dabbled in the Dark Arts himself??**

_There was something weird about how he kept you... like a pet..._

**Shove off, Malfoy!**

_Not like a pet cat or owl... more like a...bat. Something you’ll sacrifice in a potion after you’ve played with it..._

**Seriously? Did you believe that article?**

_Hmmm...well... evidence that he wasn’t a hero? Blatant Gryffindor favouritism_

**So Snape’s Slytherin favouritism was more noble?**

_He was just balancing out the ludicrous partisanship_

**HE WAS THE GREATEST WIZARD I HAVE EVER KNOWN!**

_Yeah... but you had a deprived and dangerous childhood hey? Benevolent psychos are kind of your thing..._

**How are you such a dick?**

_Practice. Annoying you has been my life ambition since first year..._

**You’ve done a sterling job of it then**

_Thank-you Potter. Praise from you is not something to be taken lightly, I’ll cherish it_

**So, did your day suck as much as mine?**

_Quite possibly: wrangled unruly infantile Muggles in my nursery, built a fence, greeted Azkaban escapees and Lucius Malfoy died. Pretty busy_  
Draco sat still for a moment, after replying with shaking fingers. There was a tiny pause before his cramped string of words disappeared to be replaced with: 

**What the fuck? And I’m ranting about a crazy journalist?**

_You’ve always been emotional_

Another pause... 

**You okay? I mean, I’m not a fan of LM but he was still your dad...**

_A useless, miserable fucking bastard...but yes_

**I’m sorry. Also sorry you have to be there**

_Don’t get soppy Potter_

**Not long til i can leave the Dursleys. Maybe we could meet up?**

_Yeah sure, we could go for coffee and croissants at Madam Puddifoots - you enormous twat_

**Obviously we’d have to find somewhere safe for both of us...**

Draco tapped his fingers nervously. He wanted to tell Potter that the Death Eaters knew about his movements, but a leak like that would be a very obvious one and bring suspicion on everyone, including Draco.  
_Be careful. They’re looking for you_

**Don’t get soppy Malfoy**

An unwilling smile tweaked Draco’s mouth. He wasn’t willing to acknowledge just how important these daily conversations with Potter were becoming for him, but he was determined to always be the one to end the exchange. 

_Malfoys don’t have feelings, moron. Got to go_  
He pulled himself to his feet and waited a moment before flicking his wand at the coin and returning the words to a serial number.

He flew back to the cottage and stowed his wand under the porch. Stomping up the stairs to the sound of raucous noise coming from inside, he did his best to bury his rioting emotions under the Occlumency shields.

“Draco!” Kirby bounced over to him, all loose prepubertal limbs and teeth too large for her mouth. “We got all the fence supplies laid out today. So tomorrow you can do your sorcery and it’ll be finished!”

“It’s called magic, Kirbs, as I’ve told you a million times.” Draco said, ruffling her vibrant red hair. Noticing his presence many of the small werewolves came bounding over, tugging on his arms and chattering at him about their various grievances and plans.

“Woah, woah, slow up everyone. First of all, has everyone eaten dinner?” There was a chorus of agreement, but a few kids ran back to one of the four long trestle tables and wooden benches that filled one half of the inside space. 

“We need to start teaching these kids to cook, Posh Boy. They’re not going to have one of your house elves delivering them food the rest of their lives.” Derve said, rising from a nearby table with an uncoiling of his sturdy muscled body.

Draco shrugged, “well, that’s something you’ll have to teach us, but for now, it’s not my highest priority. Cubs! Bed!” He shouted, and they began jostling each other to line up and undergo the cleaning spells that he had been using until they had a fully functioning bathroom set up. With a good proportion of whinging and complaining the twelve girls trooped up the ladder to the attic and the fifteen boys clomped down the stairs to their beds in the basement.

Draco sank down on a worn couch once the nightly routine was completed. Kirby shoved a bowl of food in his hands and Derve took his customary place stretched out on the floor rug. “So. What’s the news? Did they find the witch?”  
Draco shook his head and took a delicate bite, “not yet, today...” he thought carefully about what he could say without putting Derve or Kirby at risk in an interrogation by the Dark Lord. “They broke a bunch of people out of Azkaban.”

“How many?” Kirby asked, unable to resist her fixation with quantifying every event numerically.  
“Eleven. We’ll have to be even more alert. Some of them are particularly mean fuckers... and I’m pretty sure that Mulciber is a pedophile... so yeah, maybe I’ll work on beefing up our security enchantments tomorrow. Oh yeah... and my Dad got killed...” Draco fought the bite of tears and shovelled an impolite amount of food into his mouth to distract him.

“Oh Draco!” Kirby’s eyes were wide and stricken, while simultaneously one of her fingers flicked. “Ten.”

Derve sat up but didn’t speak, his gaze, calm and direct, centred on Draco, who was struggling to swallow past the lump in his throat. 

“Eat up, Posh Boy. Training in two hours; you’ll never put on muscle if you eat a piddly amount like that every day.” Instead of lying back down he went to get his tattoo ink down from a high shelf and began scratching away at a pattern on his foot.

“Can you do one of those for me?” Draco asked, when he had eaten more than he felt was possible.

He moved over to where Derve was seated and Summoned a quill and parchment from across the room. Laying it flat he sketched out the symbol for dragon heartstring that had been on his father’s wandbox in the master bedroom, followed by a sketch of an elm tree in stark black lines.

Derve tilted his head, “That’d fit well on your bicep, and the tree on your back, or maybe your calf muscle...”

Kirby came to join them on the rug, cross legged, her eyes flicked on him and away again, uncomfortable but determined. “Draco, do you want to talk about it?”

“Fuck no.”

Derve smacked him casually across the back of his head and then began carving the dragon heartstring symbol deeply into his bicep. “Watch your language in front of the kid.”

Kirby, snorted, “like I haven’t heard worse in nearly every song in your playlist, Derve.” She held up the small iPod and plugged a pair of headphones into it. Closing her eyes, she lay back on the rug listening.

Draco could still hear a quiet murmur of voices from above their heads and wondered for a second if the cubs needed another demonstration of the Silencing spell.


	3. Narcissa Malfoy

Our legs begin to break  
We've walked this path for far too long  
My lungs, they start to ache  
But still we carry on  
I'm choking on my words  
Like I got a noose around my neck  
I can't believe it's come to this  
And dear, I fear  
That this ship is sinking tonight

I'm not coming home tonight  
'Cause dear I fear, dear I fear  
This ship is sinking  
Is there hope for us?  
Can we make it out alive?  
I can taste the failure on your lips

Try to numb the pain  
With alcohol and pills  
But it won't repair your trust  
You can't stand on two fucking feet  
With a substance as a crutch  
I won't give up  
I won't give up on you  
We'll play this symphony

~ Bring Me the Horizon ~ ‘The Sadness Will Never End’

———

Narcissa’s nights had been awful, but nothing that she couldn’t handle. She wasn’t a virginal Muggle or a stupid whore or an idealistic child. She was a forty-year old witch.

Before her various visitors began to trickle through her room, she cast a number of spells and took several potions to make herself pliable, but forgetful, and each night passed in a hazy blur. Four wizards a night without fail. Some mornings she woke up sore, and shaken, but if anything it was the memories of Lucius’ death and the worries about Adriunna that tortured her, not the ridiculous wizards getting their dicks out.

Breakfast was difficult. She needed to remain completely alert and couldn’t risk calming potions. The Dark Lord continued to preen himself like a satisfied cat when she arrived at the breakfast table. So she carefully employed several of the Occlumency tactics that Bella had taught her, it wouldn’t do for him to know that his punishment was being endured with minimal pain. The humiliation was enough.

In the large mirrors she walked past, she could see that outwardly at least, nothing much had changed in her appearance through the year. Her hair was still thick, long and luxurious. Her high cheekbones, nearly translucent skin and slim frame held the usual regal poses that she had always assumed. 

“My Ice Princess” Adri used to call her. She quickly clamped down on that thought.

“That is dire news...” Yaxley was speaking, as he slurped up his breakfast on Saturday morning.  
“Yess, most unfortunate,” the Dark Lord agreed, “and it comes at an awkward time.”  
“Doesn’t it worry you for other reasons?” Yaxley’s voice was low, emphasising ‘other’ in a strange way.  
“You mean, other than the fact that our key person at Hogwarts exposure leaves us with no-one on the inside there for the changes we wish to implement?” There was a dangerous edge to his voice that Yaxley seemed not to notice.  
“Our research on Burbage was very thorough, she should have lasted ages there, doesn’t it hint at—“

“Enough!” Voldemort’s voice sliced through the air, “now is not the time for this, you focus on your own task, rather than the tasks of others.”

Narcissa forced herself to eat at a slow, polite pace, as though it were just a normal morning at Malfoy Manor. She was grateful that a cluster of Death Eaters arrived then and took any attention that might have turned her way. She finished her breakfast and rose gracefully from the table, exiting the room quietly and retreating to her walled garden.

So far this was the only place in the grounds that remained untouched; unsullied by the occupancy of the Manor. She didn’t expect it to remain so for long, however she knew that once this garden stopped being a haven of beauty, she would have nothing left to rejuvenate her soul each day for the horrors she was facing. She began her circuit of the flower-filled space, waving her wand in a comforting rhythm, “Aguamenti!”

When her usual tasks were completed she went to sit in the shade of a vine covered gazebo. Clicking her fingers briskly, there was a crack as a house elf arrived with her teapot and cup. “Thank-you, Daintsy. Now if you will sit here...” She cast a disillusionment spell over the elf that would convince anyone looking into the garden that Narcissa was still there sipping her tea. It was not a trick that would work at close range, but she was rarely disturbed in the morning so Narcissa was willing to take the risk.

Swinging her cloak around her shoulders Narcissa Disapparated promptly. She was able to make a trip to Diagon Alley for the supplies Draco had requested, and drop them off to her son. It always shocked and surprised her when she saw him these days. The cosseted, self centred and cowardly child he had been had somehow mellowed and hardened at the same time. 

His body structure was no longer that of a scrawny child, nor even that of his father — who had been a thin, lordly man — Draco was tall and wiry, with precise musculature. When she saw him standing there surrounded by children, barking out orders one minute and then kneeling to give one a hug the next, she felt her heart constrict, and she wondered, if he had been able to have siblings, how different his childhood might have been. His blonde hair was still cropped short to his head, his features pale and sharp, but his eyes burned with an anger and determination that she’d never believed him capable of. While he was in the woods with the children he discarded his robes and wore a strangely Muggle uniform, a soft white sleeveless shirt and beige shorts that didn’t quite conceal the strange new inky markings that were beginning to appear on his skin. Three thick black lines around his left forearm, a pensieve and ladle on his right calf muscle, and the newest pictures: a symbol for dragon heartstring on one bicep and the branch of an elm tree peeking up from the back of his shirt.

These blatant reference to Lucius, etched into his body, made Narcissa feel a spurt of trepidation that she struggled to subdue.

“Be careful, Draco. You don’t want to draw unnecessary attention.” She said in an undertone as she took her leave. He just looked back at her, face blank and eyes unreadable; this boy who had been propelled into manhood by adversity.

She had not long switched places with Daintsy when she received the news... Adriunna had been tracked down.

Bile rose in her throat. She dismissed the house elf who had informed her, and proceeded to vomit behind the roses, not far from the place where she and Adri had first made love. She passed through the rest of the day in a potion dulled daze. When evening fell, and the Dark Lord and a horde of Death Eaters left to get Harry Potter, she felt a tiny stab of hope that perhaps Adri would be forgotten in the dungeons, rather than made an example of. She drank some water to clear her head and began to pace the length of her room.

Looking out the floor to ceiling windows several hours later, she saw the Dark Lord returning to the Manor. His robes billowed as he flew like smoke on the wind, not needing a broomstick, his snake-like face gleaming out of the blackness, his eyes red and angry, his white hand clenched tight around Lucius’ elm wand. She knew then, that the night was far from over.

If Draco had become almost unrecognisable as he had grown up, Adriunna, bound by invisible ropes, looked nearly identical to the moment Narcissa had first fallen in love with her twenty years earlier. Hazel eyes wide and forthright, her dark hair riotous and curling down, framing her long elegant neck.

Walking into the crowded Ballroom on wobbly legs, Narcissa wished that she had taken a numbing potion after all. Her entire body was screaming in protest. She found as unobtrusive a place as possible, and lowered herself into the straight backed chair that she had sat in as a sixteen year old girl at her first ball. Turning her mind to memory, to points in the past, usually helped her to manage the gruesome present moment.

Lucius, awkward and formal in his dress robes. Adri dancing, mischievous and scandalous. Their first kiss. The uncomfortable, clinical experience of heterosexual sex. The soft, caressing encounters with Adri. The secrecy of forbidden love. The satisfaction in Lucius’ face when she produced an heir. Her tiny son’s large grey eyes and sweet fragrance.

She ran through the memories like a litany of meditation. Calmed her breathing, gazed sightless into space. 

And then Adri began to scream.


	4. Written in Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Draco_  
>  ———

Goodbye my friend, goodbye  
My love, you're in my heart  
It was preordained that we should part  
We're united by and by, united by and by  
Goodbye  
No handshake to endure, there was nothing  
It was written in blood  
It was written in blood  
It was written in blood  
Oh god, written in blood

On a suicide note  
Like roses, we blossom and die  
Like roses, we blossom and die  
Like roses, we blossom and die  
We fall apart (Die)  
We fall apart (Die)

We've fallen apart, fallen apart  
It was written in blood  
On a fucking suicide note  
The night before he died

We've fallen apart (Fallen apart!)  
Fallen apart  
We've fallen  
These roses, white roses  
Roses  
My roses  
White roses

~ Bring Me The Horizon ~ ‘It Was Written In Blood'

———

Alone at last in the small cubicle that he called a bedroom, Draco was finally able to give himself over to the thoughts that he had suppressed throughout his day. He flipped the Galleon idly, it had been a shock to his daily routine not to hear from Potter at the usual time, but he knew from the Dark Lord’s murderous outbursts that he had been unsuccessful in his mission that evening. 

The cubs were on edge, despite their distance from the Manor and the ordered routine of their days, they could sense that the full moon was coming, and dread made them snappish and cantankerous. Derve and Kirby continually looked to Draco for guidance in how to educate and prepare the children for what faced them. They didn’t seem to realise that Draco didn’t have the least idea of how to raise children. 

To be raised as an only child didn’t necessarily preclude a person from being good with children. But being raised the way that Draco had been, to value power above all else, indoctrinated by a father whose fundamentalist beliefs imprisoned him, had not prepared him for the task of child-rearing.

Still, somehow Draco had taken on the task of creating a home for these small werewolves, and he was modelling his mentoring style on the one parental figure he had known to be impartial and kind: Mitsy the house elf. As his nanny, she had spent the most time with Draco prior to his removal to Hogwarts at age eleven. 

Draco’s childhood, prior to Hogwarts, had been a series of unexpected tests and challenges interspersed with loving care from a magical creature he had been taught it was wrong to respect. Like the time that Lucius had discovered him swimming in the water fountain. Usually, when Mitsy or one of her helpers found him there, they would give him a thorough scolding, dry him off, and then take him to the kitchen for hot scones with jam and cream. The day that his father discovered his son in such an undignified and playful situation, Lucius had flicked his wand at Draco, levitating him out of the fountain and onto the gravel path with an eye-stinging this. His voice had been low and severe with disapproval: “You will dry yourself, fix your robes and present yourself in my study in fifteen minutes.” 

Shaking with trepidation he had called for Mitsy and sobbed onto her shoulder, no higher than his own seven-year-old frame. Mitsy had looked at him with large sad eyes, “Be brave, Master Malfoy. Running away or being late just makes it worse.”

Eventually Draco had learned the full truth of that and began to find ways to anticipate his father’s wishes and match his behaviour accordingly. The times when he failed to preempt criticism stood out in his memory as lessons. Such as when Lucius conjured a sack over his head as punishment for untidy writing, or when he slipped his hand around Draco’s shoulders, an unexpected sign of affection – only to have that hand move up and wrap itself around his neck and squeeze, until he went limp from the pressure, while Lucius explained that the top buttons on a robe should never be left undone, even in the heat of summer. Or at nine-years old when his tutor had reported his carelessness in Potions, and his father had put poison into his glass of water at dinner, waiting for Draco to feel the full effects before administering the antidote.

His mother had only ever looked on from a distance, a slight wrinkle in her brow. From Narcissa he had learned the art of polite conversation, in their daily sessions over cups of tea in the morning room; and the names of every flower imaginable during Saturday walks through her walled garden. But if he scraped his knee, fell off his broom, or broke a toy by accident, it was Mitsy that he ran to. And it was her calm, no-nonsense demeanour that he attempted to replicate in his interactions with his charges. These interactions had kept him busy all day until the summons to witness Adriunna’s punishment. Draco’s mind shoes away from the images of the hour in the Ballroom, and he focused his gaze on the Galleon which remained cold and silent.

Draco was shaken awake at two a.m. His mother stood over him, her eyes wild, tear stains making paths down her cheeks and casting shadows on her face that he had never seen before. “Draco, I need your help! Come!” She hissed. Her hands were shaking violently as she wrapped an arm around him and Disapparated.

They reappeared in the empty ballroom, where only a few hours ago such a savage scene of torture had played out for an audience transfixed by horror. Draco instinctively reeled is back, away from his mother. “Mother!” He whispered. “What are we DOING here!?”

“Dr-draco, help me,” Her voice broke off and she moved across the room to the place where Adriunna had died, sinking to her knees in a pool of blood that had yet to dry. Small dry sobs were beginning to escape from her mouth, and Draco hastily threw up some protective enchantments around them, enclosing them in a quiet dome of privacy.

“Mother. We shouldn’t be here.” He spoke urgently, but gently.

“No, no. I need you... no, no... my white rose...”  
She was incoherent.

Draco took a deep breath, it had been a long day organising and calming a volatile group of small werewolves and worrying about Potter. He only had a few more hours before they would wake up and need him to start all over again. He didn’t know if he could cope with this.

“Mother. Mother!”

Narcissa stopped babbling and looked up at him with clear blue eyes wet with tears. She scrubbed her face with her hands and motioned to the floor in front of her, “She left me a message... Adri... see? Here, written in b-b-blood... She must have used wandless magic to leave me a... My White Rose — That’s me see? She used to call me her white rose.” She gave another sob, but pressed on. “But this bit, I can’t figure it out, it’s blurry, like she was running out of strength.”

Tears were pouring down her pale face, and Draco was momentarily immobilised by the sight of so much emotion in her haughty features. He couldn’t remember seeing anything so passionate in her face during his lifetime. He approached slowly and looked down at the place where she pointed. The words weren’t clear at all, they followed the pool of blood outwards, blurring into the deeper red in various sections. Shapes that could only have been formed by magic, not written by hand.

The section Narcissa was glued to, “My White Rose, I love you”, was the clearest part of the message. Draco was no longer even a little bit sleepy. His body was wired and awake, alert to the danger that they were in and rushing to process the fact that Adriunna had been his mother’s lover and not just her friend.

“Okay.” He sank to his knees beside her. He ran his eyes over the fuzzy and barely intelligible words. “It looks like this part is in French... and this is maybe Latin? Then here —I think it says ‘the place where we...’ do you see?”

“Yes, yes! I think you’re right!” 

Working feverishly to decipher it, eventually Draco was able to read the full message aloud, in English: “Help. My love. Help me. My White Rose, I love you, don’t just numb the pain, remember me. Don’t live in the past. Help Lyn. She’s in the place where we — made our —nest?” He paused. But Narcissa nodded as though this made sense and motioned for him to continue. “She’s alone. Save her. There is hope for her. For our children. Don’t give up... My legs! My lungs! No hope for me... I can’t make it...I can’t make it out alive...”

His voice trailed away. He had vomited the contents of his stomach when forced to watch the spectacle of her death. Now, saying her last thoughts aloud, he had to turn away from his weeping mother and dry retch, doubled over.

Narcissa’s tears were subsiding and she stood up, the knees of her nightdress soaked in her lover’s blood. She wiped away the tears streaking her cheeks. Setting her face grimly she raised her wand, vanished the words and lowered the circle of enchantment. She took Draco’s arm and Disapparated once again.

The Apparition wreaked havoc with Draco’s churning stomach and it was some minutes before he recovered enough to register that he was back in the Cubs Cottage, and he was alone.

He barely slept for the remainder of the night and when the coin in his vest pocket warmed he snatched it out instantly.

 **They weren’t just looking for me. They knew our plans. How did they know?**

_You think they’d tell me? I’m not high on the chain of command you know..._

**So you want me to believe you know nothing? You’re in his Headquarters but have no idea who tipped him off?**

_Believe what you like... it won’t affect me...and no! I’m not “in his Headquarters”!_

**Where are you then?**

_I’ve told you... supervising the Muggle children...I moved them. We’re a broom ride away from Headquarters..._

**You were serious? I thought the references to children were a were a weird joke??**

_Trust me...twenty-eight pre-teens... not a joke at all..._

**And Voldemort just let you take them away?**

_Can you please not say his name??_

**Bit of a hard topic to avoid at the moment!**

_Yeah... but, just call him — I don’t know — Snake Lord? Or Our Noseless Hero or something..._

**You think that would get me in less trouble if he heard it?**

_Well, at least none of those names have a tracking spell attached to them..._

**Oh. Okay. For real?**

_Yes, Potter. There are actually some intelligent wizards on this side, and you Order people are the only ones who say his name out loud_

**So, should I be expecting visitors?**

_Don’t think they’re tracking writing yet... and protective enchantments might limit the spell..._

**I met your aunt last night**

_Aunt Bella??_

**Well, yeah... But I meant Andromeda...**

_What’s she like? Not as insane?_

**Seems quite sane. Angry about Tonks dying so committed to defeating uh... He Whose Nose Must Not Be Mentioned**

_Yeah,that’s not going to work... even as an acronym_

**Okay, how about if we refer to him by his actual last name? Riddle**

_Are you proposing we come up with a riddle every time we talk about Him? Or is that an actual name?_

**Tom Marvolo Riddle**

_Let’s just call him Tom then... Tom went on a torturing rampage last night. You must’ve made him pretty mad_

**Mad-Eye Moody is dead. So’s Hedwig. How many more have to suffer on my behalf?**

_Merlin, you’ve got a complex. Tom is going to make people suffer. It’s not on your behalf or anyone’s you fucking imbecile!_

There was an extended pause... 

**I should have died. I was falling, my wand spun on its own and shot a spell at Tom, not even a spell I recognized. I've never made gold flames appear before**

_That I’d believe, Potter. It never seems to be skill that saves you... you’re like the King of Dumb Luck... maybe that can be your acronym K.D.L...._

**That’s actually kind of... good to hear. Everyone else thinks I’m super powerful or something**

_Fucking halfwits..._

Potter’s abbreviated reply seemed pissed off, reminding Draco that he needed to end the conversation soon if he wanted the last word. He had so far never been the one to initiate a message, and always the one to cut them off.

_I never promised to like Team Potter you know, plus I’ve got shit to do..._

He let the coin go cold.


	5. Slow-acting Venom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Draco_  
>  ———

Raise your hands high!  
Young brothers and sisters  
There's a world's worth of work and a need for you  
Oh, a change is coming, feel these doors now closing in  
Is there no world for tomorrow, if we wait for today?

Curse us, these Gods, aren't faking  
Have mercy on the cowards, boy.  
They'll pray to have you lose  
Help us, this world's now breaking  
So now they've noticed all you've given in sound  
Let us in. Let us in

~ Coheed and Cambria ~ ‘No World for Tomorrow’

———

Mitsy had been overworked since Draco moved into the woods; she had insisted on serving them there alongside all her usual tasks at the Manor. So even though he had encouraged her not to do so much, he was surprised when she didn’t appear as usual in the early hours of the day. He was wondering if he needed to have Derve teach them to cook their own breakfast, when a tray holding a pot of porridge flickered into being on the trestle table and the small house elf holding it fell on the ground.

“Mitsy!!” Draco ran forward and gathered her into his arms, carrying her to the couch. Her batlike ears were drooping, her big eyes shadowed on the edges and milky white in the centre. “What has happened to you?”

“Dark Lord not happy with Mitsy... Mitsy his food taster... but Mitsy didn’t smell the poison a first... so Dark Lord made Mitsy—eat it all...” Her thin, wrinkled lips shook with the effort of speaking. Even though Mitsy was old, her bald head was as smooth, plump and downy as a ripe peach. Draco ran his hand gently over the soft skin, the way she had sometimes done when he was a child and in need of comfort.

“Shhh....Mitsy... I understand... Do you know what poison it was? Could I brew an antidote?”

“Slow-acting venom... it will kill Mitsy...” She whispered. 

“Not if I can help it,” Draco said grimly. He lifted her again, gently, and carried her into his cubicle, tucking her into his bed and turning to the bench that took up the rest of his cramped space. The Wolfsbane potion Snape was teaching him to brew bubbled in one cauldron , only enough for two people at this stage, full of expensive ingredients.

He pulled out another cauldron. In his head he ran through the list of ingredients for an Antidote to Uncommon Poisons: fire seed, powdered graphorn horn, billywig stings and chizpurfle carapaces. All ingredients that he had stored on the tall shelving he had installed from floor to ceiling, and doubled as the ‘walls’ of his bedroom.

As he worked he could see Ellen loitering in the doorway as she always did when he was brewing. Her posture carefully casual, slouching and disinterested; but her eyes were bright and curious. “Ellen! Come here.” 

She darted in eagerly.  
“There’s no reason why you can’t learn some basic potions skills. Each potion has at least one step that requires magic, but for the rest it is about precision. Cutting things exactly the right way for the recipe, like this, you see?”

As one of the eldest in the group, and the best reader, Ellen quickly proved herself useful in a sick room. Derve and Kirby shouldered the bulk of the cub training jobs, while Draco and Ellen spent long hours with Mitsy. They kept putting a fresh poultice of dried coltsfoot, comfrey, and mallow on the old house elf’s shriveled chest. Watching with worried frowns as she gasped for breath, and phlegm settled heavily on her lungs.

By evening she was breathing easier, but still holding onto life by a bare strand. Ellen gathered up her bedding and made herself a place on the floor to sleep beside Mitsy. Draco set a timer on his wand to wake him every two hours to check on her, and made his way to the empty lounge, sinking into the soft couch. His eyes were just drifting shut when the Galleon warmed.

**You say that Tom would still be hurting people regardless of what I do... but I don’t think he would be targeting my friends and their families...**

_We’re back on this topic now? What’s happened?_

**One of my friends has modified her parents’ memories and erased her existence to protect them...**

_Okaaaay... well, what Granger does is her choice, she’s as high-handed as ever..._

**How do you— oh never mind, the point still stands...**

_I hardly think that you can take responsibility for the means Granger resorts to, for keeping her family safe in a war..._

**Also, it’s okay for me to miss seventh year but they shouldn’t come with me!....and why does Tom have a classroom full of Muggle children??**

_Non sequitor much? Not for any good reason, let me assure you..._

**That’s all you’ll tell me?**

_Let’s just say, I’ll have my hands full tomorrow with the full moon..._

**Shit. Poor kids**

_No ‘Poor Draco’ though hey? Don’t try to stop your little fans from dropping out of school, they’ll feel heroic..._

**Bill Weasley gets married in three days time. He has scarring but didn’t turn into a werewolf thankfully...**

_Well, you have fun at the wedding and I’ll have fun containing a multitude of Muggle children that weren’t as lucky as Bill Weasley!_

Draco growled in annoyance. He wasn’t sure what annoyed him more — Potter’s thick headed insensitivity... or the fact that the Golden Trio were together and doing normal things like going to weddings while he lived in a weird sort of commune with regular jaunts to torture exhibitions.

 **Two days until I can use magic, without the Trace...**

_What will you do with your new found powers, oh Chosen One?_

**Finish the mission Dumbledore gave me... you prat...**

_Of course. I’m sure that will be straightforward, like all of Dumbledore’s schemes..._

**Don’t talk about him and make me angry, Malfoy. Do you want to meet or not?**

_What the fuck for? We’ve got a pretty full proof method of exchanging information already...also, where?_

**I dunno, I just think it’d be good to have somewhere we could meet in person. Andromeda offered me a safe room in their house...**

_Is that the old Octavious Black house in Somerset? My Mum was pissed off when that got left to Andromeda..._

**I think so? A brick house, with a pond. One storey. She fitted out the attic as a safe room for Tonks... but now... well you know...**

_Yeah_

**So could you get there?**

_Maybe. Not often, but I could probably get away now and then..._

**Well, that’s promising, right? So the password is Bubblegum Pink and Rainbow Tangerines...**

_Merlin. It really was made for Nymphadora..._

**I can trust you with that, right?**

_Having regrets now? Bit late, Potter. You are entirely too trusting..._

**So... ?**

_Yes. You can fucking trust me. As Dumbledore so kindly illustrated with his fucking book..._

**Instinctual Loyalties and Preoccupations: the Magic of Motivation ?**

_How do you remember that so well!??_

**I got myself a copy :)**

_Merlin save us_

**Surprisingly, the Dauntless-Sacrifice-Union subtype makes for interesting reading...**

_I’m frankly surprised you can read at all, Potter_

**Har har *eye roll***

_What was yours again? Family-Duty-Competitiveness?_

**Yeah, I think so...**

_No wonder you were always so uptight about Girl Weasley’s string of boyfriends then... it must be hard to recreate your parents love story without a red haired heroine..._

The coin went cold and Draco felt the familiar pang of disappointment that he had provoked Potter once too many and another conversation was over for the day. He stretched out on the couch and gave in to his weariness. Really, he couldn’t help but be cantankerous and disagreeable, for what ever reason: his traitorous mind was fixated on the Boy Who Lived. Despite all logical thought screaming at him to get over it. There could be no happy future for someone like him, infatuated with Potter, only misery. The coin warmed again, and try as he might to suppress it, nothing would stop his heart rate from accelerating at the prospect of a new message. 

**Why do you always try so hard to annoy me? If that’s your way of starting a conversation about Ginny — fine! I think she likes me?**

_Merlin’s Beard! *slaps himself in the head* your glasses aren’t enough to manage your blindness, Potter! She’s been after you for seven years!_

Draco waited, feeling a little bit sick... 

**Do you think so?**

_Fuck, her feelings aren’t the mystery here. What are you going to do about it?_

**Ummmmm**

_It’s not Arithmancy Potter, it isn’t complicated. Either you want to fuck her or you don’t. Oh wait, you’re a bloody emotional Gryffindor! Either she’s your ‘true love’ or she isn’t_

Suddenly he couldn’t stand writing any more, but no longer wanted to sleep. He jumped up, grabbed his broom, and set out into the cool night air. Flying low over the treetops he could see the Manor house illuminated by the three-quarter moon. He wished suddenly, irrationally that he could cut himself out of his skin, not just leaving behind his werewolf characteristics, but his history of blood purity, childhood in the Manor, everything that marked him as a Malfoy. He could feel the Galleon, warm in its pocket, an unread message from Potter waiting. But he couldn’t bear to read more. 

He flew for nearly an hour, knowing the coin would cool and the message would disappear, unread. Exhausted he began to fly back towards the Cottage, but at the last moment he screeched down through the branches of an ancient willow tree. 

**You’re wrong, it is complicated... She’s so beautiful, don’t really think she could find a “speccy git” like me attractive...**

_Ugh! I can’t believe I’m considering giving you a pep talk. I wanted to ignore that last message cause you’re so pathetic..._

Potter’s response was immediate, almost like he still had the coin in his hand... 

**Is that why you disappeared for an hour? You’re right about the pathetic part...**

_I was just busy, not all of us have time for angsty brooding, Potter. But... for what it’s worth... Ginny might like all the Conquering Hero stuff you know — strong jaw, scrawny frame, making up for height issues with a massive amount of presence..._

**Uh... Malfoy?**

_What??_

**Do you really think scrawny and short are attractive?**

_We’re not talking about me, remember? You’re her knight in shining armour... or wizard with the unbeatable wand... and yes, the double entendres was intentional..._

**So... you’re saying that I have “Presence” which makes up for my height, and my dick is unbeatable?**

_No? What the fuck? I did NOT say that..._

**Hmmm I think you kinda did... plus you mentioned my “strong jaw”**

_Ugh. Pep talks are obviously not my thing, are you going to seduce her or what??..._

**That seems like quite a private question...**

_Merlin. Why do I even bother..._

**...no... I’m not the seductive type, Malfoy. Plus I’m not going to be around her for long, don’t want to make it weird...**

_*rolls eyes* yeah right Potter, you just swagger into a room and all the witches and half the wizards swoon... stop overtly fishing for compliments_

**Oh is that what I’m doing?**

_Yes. Yes definitely..._

**What about you?**

_What about me??_

**Who’s dishing out the daily dose of compliments that you need?**

_Oh I’ve got the usual groupies. They follow me around adoringly, as they should. Never fear, my beautiful features are praised on a daily basis_

**Glad that nothing is affecting your self esteem...**

_Have you at least kissed her?_

**I’ve kissed two people, Draco, and one of them was you...**

Draco stiffened. Potter had broken their unspoken rule. They had never spoken about the nights at Madam Rosmerta’s. He was panicking, but forced out a casual reply. 

_Well, obviously no-one taught you how to take advantage of your Boy Hero status... maybe comes from the orphan complex_

**Shove off, Malfoy**

Draco let out the breath he’d been holding. Good. They were back to “Malfoy”. He couldn’t have handled it if Porter started calling him Draco again, and referring to their time at the Three Broomsticks. Even the references to loyalty subtypes had been a bit close for comfort. 

_I need to get to sleep, the cubs wake up ridiculously early, and our house elf is sick. Get some action Potter, for fuck’s sake, while you can..._


	6. Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Draco_  
>  ——--

A perfect storm that keeps you wide awake  
But through the silence, you will feel it, babe  
So take my hand and let's away  
You know there's nothing here to make us stay  
And in the darkness you will see the sun  
'Cause this is not enough

And I won't wait for them to cut me up  
So give me all you've got  
They'll never stop until they see us fall  
So let's run away 'cause everything's broken  
And we're so much more than another brick in the grave

'Cause this is not enough  
And I won't wait for them to cut me up  
So give me all you've got  
They'll never stop until they see us fall  
So let's run  
So let's run  
So let's run

~ Bring Me the Horizon ~ ‘Run’

———

Day broke before Draco was ready to see the sun, he stumbled back to his room and found Ellen already up and reapplying the poultice to Mitsy’s chest.

“She’s not as hot... and her breaths are easier... Draco, do you think she’ll be okay?”

Draco placed the back of his hand on the sleeping house elf’s forehead. Her fever had broken. “We can hope so. But we’ll need to let people at the Manor think she’s died... not sure how to go about that, since you lot are helpless against Leglimency, but I think we’ll have to try...”

Ellen spat viciously on the ground, “the folks at the manor aren’t people! They’re more like animals than we are!”

“Ellen. How many times have I told you, it is completely uncouth to spit, especially inside.” Draco said mildly. “Let’s give Mitsy her next dose of the Antidote when she wakes up. For now, go have some breakfast. Derve is teaching you lot how to do that for yourselves.”

Ellen looked reluctantly at Mitsy through her wispy blonde hair, “are you sure it’s okay to leave her?”

“I’ll stay with her, now get going!” 

Draco had cast a charm over his window so that rather than looking out on the trunks of the trees around the cottage it overlooked the tops of the trees in the direction of the Manor. It was one of his favourite places in the little house, and opening the curtains each morning he found himself wondering if the Manor would still be standing, or simply a smoking pile of rubble. It didn’t seem like the Dark Lord could live there for any length of time without catastrophe or disaster occurring in his childhood home. Yet each day, the handsome building remained the same, a trick on the eyes, with no outward change to illustrate the inner darkness. 

Storm clouds were approaching from the north, black and roiling, promising a summer storm. Draco welcomed the prospect of rain, he flung the window open, dispersing his charmed view of the woods, to allow in the sharp morning air, heavy with expectation. The other reason he wanted to move into the woods was the smells. He inhaled deeply the blended scents, and separated out the individual trees he could smell; ashleaf maple, white pine, Monterey cypress, Sargent spruce, pendunculate oak, sweet chestnut. 

The scent of the trees mingled with the aromas of the waking cubs above and below him, of Derve in the kitchen, and Kirby stirring in her cubicle. And approaching quickly was a new scent: like lightning, or a burnt out globe. Draco scanned the trees surrounding the cottage as a small round ball of white light emerged from between them and buzzed directly towards him. He raised his wand.

His confusion lasted only a moment, it was a patronus in the shape of a fat bumblebee bee. It landed on the window sill, looking him in the eye, and then began to scream, in his mother’s voice before the small bee-shaped light vanished. The sound of her harrowing cries sent fear coursing through him. He flung on his cloak, barked out instructions to Derve and Kirby who had come running, and flew his broom straight out the window, in the direction of the Manor.

He landed in the shelter of the trees closest to the house and summoned Daintsy, his mother’s house elf. Daintsy appeared with a crack. She was draped in a tea towel like a toga, eyes as wide as side plates, batlike ears standing straight up. 

      “Master Draco, sir!” she said in a muffled squeak. “Help, help, help! Mistress Narcissa. I says to Mistress, I says, we can’t keep the squib hidden in your room, Mistress. She is a secret we can’t keeps, I says, and next thing, that squib can’t stay quiet when Mistress has one of the wizards visiting her. Now Mistress is dragged in front of the Dark Lord, like some common muggle.”  
      “What do you mean, Daintsy, who is the squib?” asked Draco.  
      “Daintsy is not supposed to say her name, or reveal her presence. But now she is in the Breakfast Room for all to see, and the Dark Lord is very angry.”

“Who? Daintsy!”

Daintsy squeaked in fright and tugged violently on her now drooping ears. “Lyndabelle, Master Draco, Lyndabelle, Adriunna’s girl!"

“Oh shit!” Draco thought quickly, “Daintsy, you wait here. Hold my broom, we may need to do something foolhardy and sure to fail...”

Focusing on his Occlumency, Draco felt the stretch and pull of his usual shields, and calming his mind he reached for that extra level — stepping through the Shadow — and disappearing off the mental map entirely. So far he could only maintain phrenic invisibility for up to an hour, but he was getting stronger. Following it up with a disillusionment spell to mask his physical presence, he crept around the house to the French doors of the Breakfast Room. The doors were closed against the storm that was coming, but the sounds carried clearly to Draco’s werewolf ears.

The Dark Lord was screaming, “You have seen what I do to those who deceive me! Why? Did you think you were greater than Lord Voldemort?”  
            Draco’s heart clenched at the vision of his mother, in her rose silk dressing gown lying upon the polished floor, screaming, a horrible drawn-out scream, a scream of unendurable agony, worse by far than the horrified wailing of her patronus.  
            “No! No! I beg you, I beg you. . . .”  
            “You hid a squib, Narcissa! You sheltered a worthless wizarding abomination, instead of focusing on the task I gave you!”  
            “I‘m sorry. . . . I swear I. . . .”  
            “Your tears and apologies mean nothing to me, just as this worthless thing means nothing!” 

He turned his wand on a short haired teen who stood trembling in the grip of Yaxley and Wormtail. As the cruciatus curse hit, she fell on the floor writhing in angony, and Narcissa’s sobbing escalated.  
            “Now, then, what would be an appropriate punishment. Treachery of this kind can not be forgiven!”  
            “Please My Lord . . . . Just let us . . . Just let us go . . We will do nothing to work against you. . . .”  
            “Lies!”  
            “Please . . . I beg you. . . .”  
            The Dark Lord’s face was suffused with vicious anger, and the cruel pleasure he gained from toying with his victims, but before he could continue, an owl flew past Draco’s shoulder in a rush of cold air, and began tapping on the glass.

Wormtail hurried to open the door and Draco ducked back, not sure his Disillusionment spell would be enough to hide him. The owl carried its message to the Dark Lord, whose interest in the two crying women waned instantly. His face glowed with an eager delight.

“We must postpone this entertainment; throw them in the dungeon until I return. I need to go abroad for a short while, but I expect you all to continue your Tasks in my absence.” The Dark Lord exited the house in column of air whirling around and towards a vertical axis of low pressure, that took him up into the sky and he disappeared over the treetops.

_Potter. I need your help._

**How do I know who this is? You’ve never been the one to make first contact. Is this a trap?**

_Merlin, if it was a trap I’d be the last to admit it right? But it is Draco, you fed me poison remember..._

**Give me more than that. Where did that happen?**

_In a fucking cave full of inferi, you absolute dick!_

**Hi Malfoy, what’s going on?**

__I have two people who need to disappear. Tom has gone abroad, but they’ll be tortured and killed as soon as he gets back._ _

**And what makes these two worth your intervention?**

_I know. I know! I’ve not intervened before! But this time we might have a chance of getting away with their escape..._

**Okay, who are they?**

_You might not want to help if you know... but, they won’t betray you. I’m sure of it_

**Who. Are. They.**

_A Squib named Lyndabelle whose mother was murdered earlier this week...and my mother..._

**You want me to help you hide Narcissa Malfoy???**

_Yes, Potter. Because as much as you might hate her, I don’t think you actually want her to be tortured and killed along with a squib teenager she was protecting!_

There was a pause, and Draco could nearly see Potter pacing back and forth in some kind of shabby room. Shapeless clothes, hair a jumble of dark tufts, eyes furious and focused, as he sorted out his moral dilemma... 

**I assume you have a plan?**

_It’s your birthday tomorrow, right? So you can use magic..._

**Yeah—...**

_I’ll attempt to break them out tomorrow... If Tom is still away. I will meet you in Somerset and leave them in the safe room_

**Can you break them out? Is that like a life or death sort of venture?**

_*shrugs* meh... Everything we do is “life or death” at this stage_

**Are you sure you should attempt that?? What will happen to those Muggle kids if you die?**

_I’ve got two people I trust who would look after them... though one is still a kid herself... and neither are magical... but... I’ve got to try_

The coin went silent, and Draco turned his attention to Mitsy, trying not to fret. The house elf’s eyes fluttered open when he wiped her brow with a herb scented cloth. “Do you feel up to some broth? Daintsy delivered some earlier... she doesn’t know you’re alive though...” 

“Thank-you, Master Draco, you’ve saved Mitsy’s life.” Her voice was whispery and thin, but her pulse was strong, and the milky white film had retreated from her eyes. As he spooned broth into her mouth Draco felt a fierce exhilaration, he had saved her, when the Dark Lord had left her for dead... and she wouldn’t be the last. If he was careful, and clever, he could save more. He knew that freeing his mother and Lyn was a much bigger feat of rebellion, and he needed to prepare the others for his own capture or death. 

Struck by a sudden thought, he felt his heart sinking, even as a tentative plan came together in his mind. “Mitsy... can house elves Apparate anywhere in the Manor?”

“Yes Master Draco.” 

“Even the dungeons?” 

“Yes, anywhere.”

He looked out the window as he cleaned the bowl; storm clouds hung heavy overhead, but no rain had begun to fall. Returning to his seat beside the bed, he looked at the creature who had spent years caring for him, comforting him, rescuing him from his small troubles. “Mitsy. There’s something I need to do...and with your help it would be much easier. Yet I’m worried that you’re not strong enough... My mother, and Adri’s daughter are in the dungeons. I have a safe place I could take them to tomorrow... if you could get them out for me...” 

Mitsy’s wide eyes crinkled in a smile, she reached out a fragile, nearly translucent hand and patted his arm. “Tomorrow, I will be strong enough.”


	7. In Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Draco_  
>  **_Bold & Italics is Kirby _**  
> ———

Over and over and over again  
We play the same old game  
Cards kept close to our chest, that's where your secrets kept  
So wear your poker face, hands to the fool, hands to the thief

Fiction is bitter and you got a taste  
My alligator blood is starting to show  
I know that you know that I know that you know  
Can't call a bluff with a dead man's hand  
Can't call a bluff with a dead man's hand

Cut me up and wear my skin  
Show me how to live  
Tear me down, clean me up  
Now spill my fucking guts  
Just help me find a way

I know that you know that I know that you know  
Can't call a bluff with a dead man's hand  
Or put a gun to my head and paint the walls with my brains

Now you know you can go, you can give up trying  
Should of just called it quits,  
Leave before it's too late

Let's play a game of Russian roulette  
I'll load the gun, you place the bet  
Tell me who will make it out alive  
Tell me who will make it out alive

~ Bring Me the Horizon ~ ‘Alligator Blood’

———

On the morning before the full moon, the day of Potter’s birthday, Draco awoke with a buzzing energy, as tightly wound as a cheap pocket watch. He couldn’t sit down to breakfast with the chattering chorus of children, but stalked straight out to the training yard that Derve had set up for daily exercise and combat training.

Kirby came and perched on the wooden barrier, watching him with birdlike curiosity. “You wanna practice?”

Draco nodded tensely; although Kirby was still a child, she had been training with Derve for longer than Draco and was actually very tricky to grapple with. She balanced her iPod on a wooden post and motioned towards it, “put the music on then?”

“Sonorous!” Draco cast the spell at the little earbuds hanging down, and a pounding beat and screaming melody echoed through the cleared space around them.

Kirby threw him one of the wooden practice blades that Derve had carved to feel like the daggers that Draco had reappropriated from the ancient armoury in the Manor. Most wizarding knives were ceremonial rather than practical, but with some careful sharpening, each one had the potential to be lethal.

Kirby approached him, like a wary cat, bony body poised to pounce. Within a quarter of an hour she had managed to deal a killing blow seventeen times to Draco’s four. But as they continued, the balance of power between them seemed to shift, Kirby’s speed faltered, and exhaustion began to become evident in her limbs. 

The rest of the children had arrived for morning training and were clustered around the yard watching wide eyed as Draco’s killing blows mounted and Kirby’s decreased. Finally she collapsed, panting.

“And this—“ Derve stepped forward into the circle “—is why you have to build up both your speed and your stamina.”

“But if you are faced with a wizard who wants to hurt you. The only chance you have is disarming them quickly or taking them by surprise with a killing blow.” Draco looked out at all the small, serious faces and felt a clenching in his chest. He dropped down to a squat and stabbed his wooden practice dagger into the ground. “Replicatus!” A dozen identical daggers sprang into existence. “I want you all to have some practice with these today.”

Derve shook his head, “it took me hours to carve those, and you can just make twelve in one second... Come on kids, you see what we’re up against. Let’s get to work."

Draco turned the Galleon over in his fingers. It was a clever piece of charm work, that he was still quite proud of, despite the ways he had used it in sixth year. He wondered if a Muggle could use it. The enchantment was technically in the coin, not the person using it, hence why Potter was able to send messages before his Trace lifted. 

_Potter. I need to do an experiment. If it works, the next few messages you get will be from a Muggle..._

“Kirby! Can you try something for me?” 

The sprightly little red head skipped over, her brown freckles standing out brightly on her pale white face, from the hour spent in the morning sun of the training yard. “Yep. Can do, Draco, what’s up?” 

“See this coin? Wizards and witches can use it to send messages... I want to see if it works for you, because the magic is supposed to be in the coin... First off, can you read a message there, around the edge? Hold it carefully, without touching the middle...” 

**Yeah sure, give it a go...**

“It says to ‘give it a go’, right?” 

“Right! Okay, now, I want you to think of a sentence and hold it in your mind for a few seconds, then press your right thumb on that picture in the very centre... Ready? Go!” 

**_One nose. Two eyes. Three moles. Four scars. Five fingers. Six..._**

**Um... I’m assuming that’s not you, Malfoy?**

“Woah! It worked!! Draco I did magic!” 

Draco laughed, “well, technically the Galleon did magic. But yes, it worked for you. Which is fantastic news. Now, Derve do you think you and Kirbs could take the kids hiking today? To the other side of the acreage. We don’t want them near the cottage for full moon. I’ll fly over later to help set up the tent I showed you...” 

_Yeah, that was Kirby, she is weirdly into numbers, counting and cataloguing everything_

__

**Is she one of the two who’ll look after the kids?**

__

_Yeah. If she and Derve can use the coin then that is really good news_

__

**Not sure what I’d be able to do for them if they needed help.**

__

_At least they could communicate with someone outside if they need to_

__

**So we’ll meet at Andromeda’s today?**

__

_Yeah, in about an hour I think, I’ll let you know when I know what’s happening_

__

**Okay. I’ll meet you there, and clear it with Andromeda. Maybe we should meet once first? Before you try the jailbreak?**

__

_If you could get the okay from my Aunt... that would help. I think I’ll attempt to get mother and Lyn as soon as the witnesses are out of the way_

__

**Don’t take any unnecessary risks, Malfoy**

__

_Haha, that’s a bit rich, coming from Harry “Risky-Shit” Potter_

__

**Just don’t get yourself killed, alright?**

__

_Death will take us all... I’d rather go out in style..._

——— 

The shock of their imprisonment hung over Narcissa in the day that followed; she kept expecting to see Wormtail stumping down the stairs to take them up to the Dark Lord... to their deaths. Lyndabelle didn’t seem to fully grasp the finality of their incarceration. Though Narcissa felt that she would do anything to avoid a painful death, when she looked across at Lyn — and saw the large brown eyes, mirror images of her Adri — she felt a fierce protectiveness, and the realisation that despite the consequences, she wouldn’t change what she had done, even if she could.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs Malfoy, it’s all my fault, that we’re going to” – Lyn mouthed the word DIE, which somehow gave it more emphasis than if she had said it out loud – “First my mother, and now you and I. I’m trying to be brave, but it’s hard, isn’t it? I don’t suppose,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “d’you reckon there’s any way we can escape?”  
“No,” Narcissa admitted. “I’m sorry child. They have my wand..."

Lyn glanced toward the barred door into the gloomy hallway, then leaned in closer to Narcissa.  
“Mum had her wand. The day she was taken, it didn’t even matter. She told me to hide. Not to watch, and I didn’t, but I could still hear. In some ways, hearing stuff happen to her felt worse than when I was actually cursed myself...”  
“Hush, Lyn...”

Totally ignoring Narcissa’s icy posture, Lyn snuggled herself into her side and leaned her head on Narcissa’s cold shoulder. “I think someone will come to our rescue... like you came to mine...”

Lyn’s prediction came true the next morning. Shortly after the hourly inspection of the prisoners, the dungeons were still filled with the sounds of groaning or crying prisoners, recovering from a round of cruciatus curses. There was a crack of Apparition, that tore a shriek from Lyndabelle’s lungs. Shaking, shivering and barely able to stand, Mitsy — the house elf who had been fatally poisoned — stood swaying in the cell with them. “Quickly. The child first.”

She reached an arm towards Lyndabelle who shrank back in confusion.

“Master Draco. Ask Mitsy to bring you.” Comprehending the truth of what was happening, Narcissa pushed Lyn into the elf’s withered arms, and watched in disbelief as they disappeared.

She had never considered. Never imagined. Never contemplated that something so simple would free them. No self-respecting witch or wizard would think to find out if a house elf’s magic was powerful enough to break through even the most potent Anti-Apparition spells.

Narcissa stood upright and unmoving in the centre of the cell. A statue carved of ice. A chant of thanksgiving that Lyn was out, reverberated in her mind, alongside the quiet words, “please, come back for me...”

Her bare feet were numb with cold, her torn dressing gown barely covering the fresh bruises and dried blood on her skin. There was a sudden crack. Thin arms, shaking with the exertion, slid around her, and suddenly she was feeling the sucking sensation of Apparition.

They reappeared in Draco’s tiny bedroom, where he waited, not to greet his mother, but to gather the tiny elf in his arms as she fainted, and carry her to his bed, tucking her in with the tenderness of a father... or... the tenderness Narcissa supposed a father could show, though she herself had never seen it.

Draco held a cup of potion to Mitsy’s lips, coaxing her to swallow it, murmuring words of encouragement. He had been growing more adept in the past year, at hiding his emotions and making his face impassive. However, Narcissa could still see traces of her emotional son in certain physical tells. His emotions as he leant over the further-weakened house elf, were worry and fear. But when he turned his attention to his mother, his expression changed minutely, and she could see the tightening around his eyes, and the tiniest twitching of his fingers, that indicated he was angry. Furious.

“Mother. I am sending you to someone that I trust. From this point forward, if you do anything at all to influence the war, it will be to help them... do you agree?”

Her heart fluttered like a butterfly in her chest, nevertheless she was able to reply in the same cool tone of voice. “Hello Draco, I think we both know that my time supporting your father’s political interests is over.”

Draco’s steely gray eyes bored into hers, he paused. “We have no time, or I would ask you just why you thought you could hide a squib. In. Your. Room... As it is, remonstrance is fruitless. We need to have you in safety before the hour is up and your disappearance begins to be investigated.”

He gathered up two thick cloaks and passed them to her and Lyndabelle. “I’m going to Side-Along you to the Beckford Arms where we will take the Floo to Somerset. Keep yourselves covered by the cloaks and hoods, I’ll cast a disillusionment charm on you for the first part.”

He reached into his robes and withdrew a Galleon, that sat between his curled forefinger and thumb as though he were going to flip the coin. Instead he looked absently towards his window and pinched the Galleon firmly with his thumb.

Lyndabelle wrapped herself in the cloak and linked her arm through Narcissa’s. “I knew that we’d get out, Mrs Malfoy! Didn’t you?”

Draco snorted. “We’re not out of danger by a long shot, come on.” He whisked them away in a flurry of transitions from Apparition to Floo to Apparition and then as he threw the Floo powder into the next fireplace, he spoke the address “Thirty Godney Road, Glastonbury!”

Narcissa only had a handful of seconds to process where he was taking her before she tumbled out into a familiar sitting room, full of morning light. A fair-haired, big-bellied man was watching them anxiously. And between two delicate tables and an aspidistra in a terracotta pot, stood her sister. Andromeda’s hair was still a light soft brown, with only a few strands of grey threaded through, and her eyes were haughty and aloof.

Narcissa gathered her cloak more tightly around herself and made her spine very straight. Draco, meanwhile was looking in another direction, frozen, his body tense, holding his breath. Narcissa followed his gaze and met the eyes of Harry Potter.


	8. Safe room

In your eyes, there's a heavy blue  
One to love and one to lose  
Sweet divide, a heavy truth  
Water or wine, don't make me choose

I wanna feel the way that we did that summer night  
Drunk on a feeling, alone with the stars in the sky

I've been running through the jungle  
I've been running with the wolves  
To get to you, to get to you  
I've been down the darkest alleys  
Saw the dark side of the moon  
To get to you, to get to you

I've been running through the jungle  
I've been crying with the wolves  
To get to you, to get to you (oh to get to you)

Your fingertips trace my skin  
To places I have never been  
Blindly I am following  
Break down these walls and come on in

~ Selena Gomez ~ ‘Wolves'

———

Draco stood there, aware that everyone in the room had turned to look at Potter. As people always did when Potter was present. Draco was overwhelmed. He felt numb, yet his body was buzzing as though full of angry bees. He didn’t dare to breathe through his nose. He was frozen, unable even to exhale.  
      Potter’s scent. After months apart, had hit him harder than any he had ever experienced, whirling through his senses; cinnamon, morning dew on the grass in the woods, freshly baked bread, Mitsy’s almond biscuits, a freshly oiled hawthorn broomstick.  
      Behind him, Narcissa had gathered her cloak tightly around her, as Lyn whispered urgently in her ear.  
      Opalescent green eyes were locked on Draco’s, and it took an effort for Draco to breath out and speak. His words came out abruptly. “I can’t stay long. Can we trust you?”

Andromeda snorted, and Ted coughed. Potter glowered at him. “Hi Malfoy! Great to see you too! Glad you’re as friendly and easy going as usual.” His searching gaze broke away from Draco and landed on the two women behind him. “Mrs Malfoy. Lyndabelle, I have asked the... er— Tonks family,” he paused as the two sisters exchanged wary glances, “to allow you to stay in their Safe Room for a few nights, and from there we’ll— ah, need to come up with a longer term plan.”

Narcissa’s voice was dispassionate. “We appreciate the effort you have made, and are willing to do whatever we can to aid you, Mr Potter.”

Potter looked sceptical; he scrubbed at his messy hair and shifted on the spot, “that’s a pretty big change since the last time we met, you’ll have to forgive us if we’re not eager to— ummm— accept your ‘help’ yet.” 

“Many things have changed since we last encountered one another Mr Potter.”

Draco was slowly becoming resensitised to the force of Potter’s appeal. He could feel his shoulders relaxing infinitesimally, but he was still eager to leave as soon as possible. He checked his pocket watch. “Aunt Andromeda, Uncle Ted.” He felt five sets of eyes on him immediately. His mother looked uncharacteristically vulnerable all of a sudden. “Thank you for your hospitality. My mother’s wand is still in the possession of the Death Eaters, she may find the adjustment difficult, but Lyn is used to living without magic and will support her. Once their disappearance is discovered, the Dark Lord’s trackers will be looking for them.”

Narcissa’s brows pinched, “the longest any deserter has managed to evade capture so far was two weeks. And she still had her wand...”

“How do you propose to look after yourself then, Narcissa?” Andromeda asked, gruffly. Narcissa bristled and seemed to realign her already straight spine until she looked uncomfortably stiff.  
Draco answered the question. “I am caring for a house elf who may choose to come and serve my mother once she is recovered. She has been assumed dead, and I will be offering her, her freedom if she wants it. Most likely she will choose to stay with my mother or I...”

Potter was moving closer, enveloping him in his distinctive aroma, Draco moved backwards, panicking inwardly. “Can you take us to the safe room? Then I’d better get back.”

Following his aunt up the stairs, Draco suddenly realised his mistake. The stairs wound around in a spiral, but were wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Seemingly out of nowhere, Potter was beside him and when their hands brushed accidentally, Draco nearly leapt out of his skin. Potter looked sideways at him and murmured, “it’s only me, Malfoy...” with a grin, so boyish and beautiful that Draco nearly groaned out loud. Instead, he gritted his teeth and stepped through the door into the attic.

Still beside him, Potter whistled through his teeth, “I feel like safe ‘room’ was a bit of an understatement!”

The room extended the full length of the house below and was divided into separate, cozy spaces, delineated by items hanging from the exposed beams in the arched roof. A low hanging cushioned hammock sectioning off a group of couches and colourful throw pillows; a tapestry blocking most of the view of a double bed under one of the eight dormer windows that dotted the whitewashed walls. Low bookshelves under another window alongside a grouping of floor cushions; a fully equipped kitchen in one corner, the shelves stacked high with canned food and other in un-perishables. A closed off room in the back corner that clearly held a bathroom, and around it all shining, polished floorboards stretching out.

“This is so great!” Potter was saying, as Andromeda demonstrated the safety features and enchantments in the roof, windows and doorway. Lyndabelle had sunk into the hammock and tucked her feet up under her, looking like a little bird in a nest. Narcissa, meanwhile, stood statuesque and severe in the entryway.

Draco nodded briskly. “This is perfect. Lyn will show you how to work the kitchen, Mother. And I will come back to check on you as soon as suspicions at the Manor lift. Thank-you Aunt... and, Potter. I’ll show myself out.” He spun on his heel and retreated.

Potter was darting after him, his scent as strong as ever, clattering down the stairs and pausing at the hearth. Draco surrendered to his desire to just stare at Potter. He was breathtakingly handsome, in a disorderly way. His hair had grown longer and fell down over the frames of his glasses. His jaw was sharp and defined. The veins in his strong hands stood out as he propped himself against the fireplace. 

He turned, and Draco raised his chin defiantly, at being caught staring, and held his unnerving gaze. “You’ve only been here ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes longer than I should be away.”

“Did it go smoothly? How did you get them out? What happened? C’mon Malfoy, surely you have time to tell me stuff...” The left corner of his mouth tightened in what could have been irritation or amusement. Draco much preferred him angry, than laughing at him. He stalked straight into Potter’s personal space, being careful not to breathe through his nose.

He put his face close to Potter’s, feeling the warmth radiating from his body, giving him a long hard look. “This isn’t some mini holiday. If I have slipped up anywhere, if anyone saw or heard what happened, it won’t matter how long the Dark Lord is away for, the Death Eaters are just as cruel and dangerous.”

“But as far as you know, no-one saw you?” 

“I had to ask Mitsy... our house elf, to Apparate into the dungeon and get them out... but she was already weak, close to dying... I need to get back and make sure she’s okay...”

Potter’s face cleared and he stepped back, leaving Draco’s way to the Floo Powder unobstructed. “Okay... but you’ll come back, yeah? When you can?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “anyone would think we were friends Potter!” He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder in his left hand, brushed the fingertips of his right hand down Potter’s forearm as he said “Happy Birthday...” stepped into the Floo, and didn’t look back.

After spending the rest of the day nursing Mitsy, Draco felt that she was strong enough to be moved. There had so far been no-one come to check on the werewolves since the uproar at the Manor when Narcissa’s escape became known. 

“Mitsy, are you able to Apparate to my mother, even if you haven’t been to the place she’s staying?”

Mitsy looked pensive, “Yes Master Draco, Mitsy could find you or your mother anywhere.”

Draco smiled gently at her, “It’s the full moon tonight, and I’ve locked up the fencing around our cottage...and put enchantments up to keep us in, but I don’t want you to be here when any of us transform. I want you to go to my mother, and stay with her until you’re well again. After that, since you don’t want me to free you from our service, you can choose where and how you serve us. But don’t let anyone inside the Manor, or any of the werewolves, know that you’re alive okay? I’ll have to tell them that you didn’t make it... for their protection.”

After Mitsy disappeared, Draco mounted his broom and went in search of Derve and Kirby who were supervising a literacy lesson for the cubs at the other end of their fenced acreage, under a spreading Ashleaf Maple. He made quick work of setting up the tent, an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with peacocks embroidered into its panels. He had been appropriating as many things from the Manor storerooms as he thought might be useful, and whose disappearance would go unnoticed by the Death Eaters. 

Watching the cubs running into the tent and exclaiming over how fancy it was, he thought that perhaps he should set it up and use it as the bedrooms for the cottage once this full moon was over. Looking at his watch Draco clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay! I want you all to find a spot to curl up and do your best to have a nap. The more well rested and relaxed you are prior to transforming, the less painful you’ll find it.” Derve nodded in agreement.

“I’m setting a timer for one hour, then we’ll pack up the tent, have some dinner... and it will be time for the moon to come out.” Serious faces stared back at him, one little girl began to cry, but Kirby came alongside her and wrapped her in hug, whispering soothingly.

As the group scrambled to stake their claim on a bed, couch or even a plush rug, Draco went back outside and sat down with his back against the Ashleaf Maple tree.  
The coin had been warm against his chest as he worked on the tent, and he scooped it out a little apprehensively.

Seeing Potter in person had been so intense, he wasn’t sure if he could revert to the casual back and forth conversation they were in the habit of.

**She kissed me**

Suddenly, casual messages seemed a thousand times easier. Even as his pulse pounded with an enraged jealousy, and envious resentment towards the Girl Weasley. This was solid ground. There was no confusion about how Potter’s fairytale would end.

_How was it, Casanova? Did you pop her cherry?_

**Malfoy! Stop it! Also...you’ve heard of ‘casanova’?? —isn’t that a Muggle thing?**

_Seriously? He was a wizard, Potter. Did you EVER listen in History of Magic?_

**Sorry I’m not up with Casanova biographical trivia?**

_Quick Recap: Muggles we’re amazed at what a good scam artist he was, and all his escapes from prison. He masqueraded as an alchemist, but was actually a Potions Master. He became a church cleric when he was an Auror and a Venetian Spy. He wrote satires, and fought duels, both magical and Muggle_

**If you were my History If Magic Professor I might’ve learnt more**

_Nah, you would’ve been too busy storming out. Now come on, stop being coy... details? Or don’t you want to kiss and tell?_

**No! I mean... it’s not something I really talk about... I mean...argh... there hasn’t been anything much to talk about! No, I don’t mean it like that... nothing until... well... but I haven’t talked about it!**

_Merlin, you are so fucking inarticulate!_

**Sorry I don’t meet your posh-white-boy standard of speaking! }:(**

_What is that last bit??_

**Uuuummm... I think its meant to be an angry face?**

_Merlin’s Beard! Don’t do that again... Now, spill..._

**There’s nothing to tell! She took me to her room, and said happy birthday, and then kissed me. It felt... I dunno... soft. Then Ron burst in and dragged me off to yell at me**

_Hmmm... So are you going to sneak into her room tonight?_

**What... ? No!**

_Your invisibility cloaks has clearly never been used for its primary purpose..._

**Scaring teenage girls ?**

_No, numbskull: scandalous, forbidden trysts..._

**Oh.**

_Uh huh_

**So... it doesn’t bother you?**

_What am I —your mother?? I’ve got to go, it’s a busy night for me_

Draco spent the rest of that hour flying.


	9. We Shift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  ** _Bold & Italics is Kirby _ **  
> ———

Off through the new day's mist I run  
Off from the new day's mist I have come  
I hunt therefore I am  
Harvest the land  
Taking of the fallen lamb  
Off through the new day's mist I run  
Off from the new day's mist I have come  
We shift pulsing with the earth  
Company we keep  
Roaming the land while you sleep

Shape shift, nose to the wind  
Shape shift, feeling I've been  
Move swift, all senses clean  
Earth's gift, back to the meaning of life  
Bright is the moon, high in starlight  
Chill is the air, cold as steel tonight

We shift, call of the wild  
Fear in your eyes, it's later than you realized  
I feel I change  
Back to a better day  
(Shape shift) hair stands on the back of my neck  
(Shape shift) in wildness is the preservation of the world  
So seek the wolf and not the man

Shape shift, nose to the wind  
Shape shift, feeling I've been  
Move swift, all senses clean  
Earth's gift  
Back to the meaning 

~ Metallica ~ 'Of Wolf And Man’

——--

From flying, Draco transitioned to running... Not smoothly, but painfully, surrounded by tears that turned to howls. After the Shift, his whole body was alert and angry, and confronted by the presence of another adult male werewolf he bristled and waited. 

Derve, in his wolf form, circled Draco once. There had only been enough Wolfsbane for the two of them and Derve had dutifully drunk a goblet of potion every day, but Draco wasn’t sure that it would work on a non-magical werewolf.

He stood on his four legs, hackles raised, waiting. With careful intentionality Draco sat down on his haunches and after a few beats, Derve followed his lead. Their eyes met. Mutual understanding flowing between them.

The cubs around them were already snarling, snapping and tearing at one another. Several had run away as fast as they could, following some appealing scent. 

As the rest of Wiltshire slept, Draco and Derve rounded up the young ones that they could, prodding them to focus their energy on movement. Running in the freedom of the woods, within the boundary they themselves had created. Roaming the land that they were fenced into. 

The moon was bright, joined by sheltering starlight. The air was cold as chilled steel. Wild fear was constantly in the eyes of the smaller werewolves. They moved swiftly, finding paths through the undergrowth, their senses acutely balanced, noses to the wind.

Kirby didn’t understand any of this. Her human mind was far away and the wolf completely consumed her, but somehow she knew that to spend her night fighting and tearing strips off others of her kind was not what she wanted. Instead she ran apace with the two adult males. Pushing her shorter legs, letting the burning in her lungs and muscles drive out the thirst for blood and violence.

The night passed at breakneck speed, with minimal bloodshed. As the new day’s mist rose, Draco led the way, back towards the cottage. Not too fast. Approaching the clearing of their training yard just as the sun drove the moonlight out of the sky. About a dozen of the their group were with them. As they shifted back to human form, Kirby looked around her, identifying who was who. Seeing if her knowledge of them by their smell had been enough to know their identity... Ellen, Xander, Marco, Amy, Joseph, Maggie, Chris, Lupita, Trent, Bodi and Renie. Her mind flickered to the other children, wondering where they had ended up. Draco was already striding towards the cottage. Kirby could barely move from the pain and exhaustion of the change. She watched as he returned in fresh robes, carrying the spare broomstick and a jug of potion he said would help everyone recover more quickly. “I’m going to find the other kids...”

Derve nodded, pulling himself to a standing position and shaking out his aching limbs, “we’ll get these guys cleaned up, fed and to bed. That was... it was, a lot better than usual Draco. Thank-you...”

Kirby’s mouth was dry, she couldn’t speak, but in her mind a her calming litany was beginning, both the simple and the complex:

One: Greyback Bite.  
Two: Years of Fear.  
Three: Weeks of Home.  
Four: Internal Forces: tension, compression, torsion, and shear.  
Five: Physical Properties: density, color, conductivity,  
malleability, luster.  
Six: Essential Nutrients: carbohydrates, protein, fat, vitamins, minerals and water.  
Seven: Millenium Prize Problems: Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture, Hodge conjecture, Navier–Stokes existence and smoothness, P versus NP problem, Poincaré conjecture, Riemann hypothesis, Yang–Mills existence and mass gap.  
Eight: Major Constellations: Aquarius. Aquila. Aries. Canis Major. Cygnus. Leo. Orion. Scorpius.  
Nine: Ethical Principles: Relational Connection; Autonomy; Beneficience; Nonmaleficence; Meritocracy; Transparency; Humility; Openness to Complexity; Protect the Future.  
Ten: Internal Organs: Bladder. Skin. Intestines. Kidneys. Spleen. Stomach. Liver. Lungs.

As the lists and numbers rotated in her mind Kirby made her way over to help Derve. 

For as long as she remembered Kirby had needed to make lists of things to make sense of the world. Her greatest ambition was to solve one of the Millenium Prize mathematical problems, not just for the US $1 million prize she would win from the Clay Mathematics Institute, but for the prestige and pride she would experience. Since the challenge was released, the only problem to have been solved was the Poincaré conjecture. It was solved by the Russian mathematician Grigori Perelman on Kirby’s ninth birthday. 

Gifts were not something Kirby was used to receiving on her birthday, she was more likely to be subjected to an extra whack with the ruler, belt buckle or wooden spoon. One hit for impoliteness, two hits for rudeness, three hits for defiance, four hits for disrespect, five for tactlessness, six for clumsiness, seven for obtuseness, eight for awkwardness.

On this particular birthday she had managed to avoid any of the usual misdemeanours and had risked asking her mother if she could have a poster of Grigori Perelman for her room. To her surprise, her mother had brought home a poster — of the boy band One Direction. It was neither the first, nor the last time that her mother misunderstood a request on purpose. 

Most of the time, memories of her mother didn’t intrude on Kirby’s peace, but the morning after a transformation always brought her to mind. When Greyback had bitten her and moved on to other victims, Kirby’s mother had been the one to decide what must be done with her. The whole family had witnessed the horrifying monster who had caused the blood to pour from Kirby’s torn shoulder, but they also saw the unnatural way that the tear was healing. It left a scar, still fiery red, but looking months old rather than minutes. Her mother halted her step-father’s efforts to call the police, or an ambulance, and she had grimly locked Kirby in her room, waiting to see what it all meant. 

When Greyback returned the next day, tracking the scent of his victims, and revealed the truth of her condition, Kirby’s mother had surrendered her without bitterness, “she’s always been an unnatural child... there’s no way for me to keep her now.”

When Kirby had finally told this story to Derve and Draco, they were shocked by the callousness of her relatives, but Kirby had shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever been ‘normal’, I was always unnatural, awkward and difficult... when I became a werewolf it was like she thought it was a natural punishment.”

If the two years that followed were truly a deserved punishment, Kirby wasn’t sure any human being of less than a decade’s life could have been evil enough to deserve it. When Derve had joined the werewolves and begun protecting her, and teaching her to fight, life between the full moons became slightly more bearable. But the home Draco was creating around them was as warm and fragile as a baby bird in a nest. Kirby was almost scared to enjoy it for fear it would be snatched away. 

Now nearly thirteen years old, Kirby was for the first time feeling accepted, respected and cared for. The cottage, as the weary werewolves straggled in, took on an ethereal glow in Kirby’s mind. Almost as though she could see the glowing magic of home and family that Draco was somehow weaving around this motley group.

Even when her eyes were so heavy with gritty fatigue, she pushed herself to continue. Calming Maggie and Renie who were crying in their exhaustion. Helping Lupita and Ellen into clean, soft pyjamas. Taking the other girls, who flew back into the cottage on the back of Draco’s broom, up to their beds.

Draco had just returned with the last straggler and passed him to Derve, who carried the already sleeping boy downstairs, when the alarm went off. Draco had set it up to notify them when anyone entered the fenced acreage around the cottage, but so far their only visitors had been house elves, and Narcissa Malfoy. 

The hairs on the back of Kirby’s neck stood up.  
“Hide, Kirby!” Draco hissed, waving his wand towards the basement and attic, whispering words that made even the quiet rustling noises of the children fall completely silent. He had barely completed his spells when there was a thunderous pounding on the door.  
He flicked his wand at the door and opened it before it was broken off its hinges. Draco walked forward confidently. From her position, squeezed into the gap under the couch, Kirby could see straight past him and out the open door to where five huge, skeletal black horses were blowing and heaving, necks arched and nostrils flared, rustling enormous batlike wings.

Despite their distance from her, Kirby could nearly feel the brush of their hot breath. But it wasn’t the terrifying undead horses that were causing her body to shake with fear. It was the wizard who had stepped into the room and slammed his fist into Draco’s head — as though in some savage form of greeting. Draco doubled over in pain but did not collapse.

Kirby slapped a hand over her mouth to try and hold in the scream she could feel welling up inside her.

“Well, Cubsitter, where are your cubs?” Fenrir Greyback snarled, circling Draco threateningly. 

Draco shook his head as if to clear it and stood up straight again with an effort, “is it really the cubs that you came to talk to me about?” He waved his hand towards the thestrals and four other wizards outside. “Don’t the Dark Lord’s Trackers have better things to do?”

For this piece of impertinence Draco received another heavy blow. “Nah, we’re here for you Cubsitter, we’re taking you to the others for questioning...Expelliarmus!”

Draco’s wand flew into Greyback’s hand. As he was shoved towards the door Kirby saw his long fingered hand pluck the enchanted coin from his pocket and drop it on the floor before the door slammed behind them. There was a sound of hooves scraping up the ground and heavy wings flapping, and then they were gone. As the sounds of their departure faded, Kirby couldn’t hold back her tears. She wiggled back and forth until she was free of her confining hiding place.

On wobbly legs she ran down the stairs to find that Derve and the boys were fast asleep. Blissfully unaware of what had just taken place. Realising there would be no purpose in waking them, Kirby bit back her sobs and returned to the living room. She picked up the large gold coin, and fell asleep with it clutched in her hands...

**_Oh Draco! Please don’t die! This won’t be home with out you... One: Greyback Bite. Two: Years of Fear. Three: Weeks of Home..._**

**Kirby? Is that you? What’s happened?**

**_Four: Internal Forces: tension, compression, torsion, and shear. Five: Physical Properties: density, color, conductivity, malleability, luster._**

**Kirby! Stop! What happened to Draco?**

**_Six: Essential Nutrients: carbohydrates, protein, fat, vitamins, minerals and water. Seven: Millenium Prize...Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer... Hodge... Navier–Stokes... P versus NP...Riemann... Yang–Mills...mills...mill...mi..._**

**Kirby? Please talk to me?? Kirby?**


	10. Potions Use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had to make a few changes to this section. Apologies if you had already read chapter ten. Hopefully it flows a bit better now...

It hurts right to the touch  
I know it stings, I know this cuts

Every second's soaked in sadness  
Every weekend there's a war  
And I'm drowning in the déjà vu  
We've seen it all before

~ Bring Me the Horizon ~ ‘Seen It All Before’

———

A faint grumbling from the kitchen nook, built into a growl of determined insistence. “Mitsy! Lie down! You nearly died only a few days ago, and today you’ve used your magic to Apparate five times!” The short, slim sixteen year old spoke up. Lyn’s most riveting features were her easy smile – unusual for anyone in Narcissa’s life– and her eyes, which were like those of a much younger child — luminous, innocent and often mischievous. All of her mother’s other traits had bypassed her. She had her father’s mouse brown hair, short stature and freckled skin.

The house elf retreated, with a frown, to the nest of cushions that Lyn had prepared for her when she had appeared suddenly in the Safe Room that afternoon. “Mitsy is sorry. Mitsy not strong enough to prepare dinner. Maybe just fix Mistress Narcissa robes,” their rescuer said. 

Narcissa made a mental note to discuss Apparition by House Elves with those in charge of the enchantments... she couldn’t quite bring herself to say her sister’s name, even in the privacy of her own mind. 

Her inner turmoil had reached boiling point. Lucius was dead. Draco a werewolf. She was wandless. On the run with a Squib. Wearing cast off Muggle clothes that had belonged to a niece she had despised for her half-blood status. Being kept safe by the sister whom their family had disowned when she married a Muggle.

Either she had to face and reject much of who she had been and what she had believed, or she would be torn apart. When she had read Adri’s final message to her, she had felt the pull of her lover’s last requests as though they carried the binding of an unbreakable vow. “Don’t numb the pain. Remember me. Don’t live in the past. Help Lyn. There is hope. Don’t give up..” 

She had nothing left but the tatters of her former life, and that list of requests. 

It had been several days since she had taken her last calming and numbing potions, and behind her eyes was a headache that pounded and drilled into her skull. Her body had begun to shake; only a shiver to begin with, but she knew what was coming. Pulling shut the curtain that hung around the double bed, she wrapped her arms around herself and tucked herself in without a word to Mitsy or Lyn. She lay there, pretending to sleep, all through the night of the full moon, shaking uncontrollably, her body alternating between boiling hot and freezing cold. 

Twelve hours later the chills finally subsided and she fell into an uneasy sleep. She didn’t wake the first two times that Mitsy and Lyn checked on her that morning, but the sound of someone banging on the door to their room at around noon, brought her out, as a pale and distressed Harry Potter entered.

When he saw Mitsy, he ran forward; “Are you Draco’s house elf?”  
“Yes, Harry Potter sir,” said Mitsy proudly.  
“You know me?”  
Mitsy reached out a wrinkled hand and lay it fondly on Potter’s cheek, “it’s not possible to be close to Master Draco and not know of Harry Potter.”  
Potter seemed quite struck by this and swallowed several times before speaking again, “he sent you here?”

“Yes, yesterday. Master Draco didn’t want Mitsy at the cottage for Full Moon.”

Narcissa cleared her throat. The strange connection between her son and Potter was not one she completely understood, however she was sure that he would not have discussed his werewolf status with the dark-haired youth. “May I ask what brings you back so soon, Mr Potter?”

Potter stood and commenced pacing a section of the polished floor in an erratic way. “I had a strange message... I think Draco might be in trouble, but I’m not sure what to do... and I’ve got a wedding to go to in about an hour...” He adjusted his glasses, and scrubbed at his hair. Both nervous gestures that made Narcissa wonder anew at exactly what the story of her son’s connection to this young man could be.

“Okay. I’ve gotta go back... but uh, I’ll let you know if I hear from Draco... and maybe you could get Andromeda to send me an owl... if you get word from him.” He frowned at them momentarily, then forced a small smile, “I’ll uh— see you later?” With an aborted wave, he had left, as suddenly as he arrived.

Every second seemed soaked in unbearable sadness that whole long day. Narcissa was no longer experiencing physical withdrawals from her calming potions, but mentally she was drowning in déjà vu. She had never wanted to rely on potion use to get her through the war, but when she knew that Draco would be the target of the Dark Lord’s wrath she had turned to numbing potions gladly.

She wished she could sleep soundly, like Mitsy and Lyn were able to. But that blissful state eluded her. As each hour passed, her anxieties grew stronger. She locked herself in the bathroom and gave in to a flood of tears, before washing them away.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror she took stock of her strange appearance. The denim “jeans”, as Lyn called them, clung tightly to her her legs, like a second skin. They had been too short, stopping above her ankles. But Mitsy, not allowed to work on Narcissa’s robes, hadn’t been able to resist using some of her magic to lengthen them. So they now brushed the arches of Narcissa’s feet. 

The strange shirt was also of a clingy fabric, though much softer and more pliable than the trousers. She felt like she looked even taller and skinnier in these clothes than she had ever looked before. Her face though was exactly the same. Sharp cheekbones, cold eyes. A thin lipped mouth that had forgotten how to smile.

Lyn had left behind one of her many wristbands, that she also used to tie her hair messily up on top of her head. Narcissa picked it up gingerly from the sink. She was essentially a Squib now. She needed to move forward into her new identity rather than cling to the past. With shaky hands she gathered up her white blonde hair on to the top of her head and tied it there awkwardly. It took several attempts, but eventually she had a waterfall of hair flowing down her back from its high binding.

She looked younger still. And ridiculous.

“Oh Adri, I don’t want to do this by myself...” She whispered to the mirror.

As if in answer to her plea, there was a sudden banging on the door to the stairs. When Narcissa emerged from the bathroom, the Golden Trio had just entered the Safe Room.  
      “Oh hello, Mrs Malfoy,” Potter said, rather breathlessly, spotting her. Then his eyes snapped back to his girlfriend who was grabbing at his arm.  
“What is SHE doing here, Harry!!“  
“And why’s she dressed like that?” said the red-headed Weasley boy.  
      Potter hesitated. Narcissa could tell that, however he and Draco had been maintaining their connection, he hadn't really intended to tell his friends about it. There was a silence, while Potter eyed his bushy haired girlfriend nervously. Then Lyn and Mitsy appeared at Narcissa’s side.

“What is going on, Harry?” Hermione Granger asked, in a dangerous sort of voice.  
      ”I’ll explain everything, Hermione,” mumbled Potter, “I just— these guys were in trouble—“  
      “What has that got to do with us?” said Granger. “It’s not like they’re on our side!”  
      “Whose side do you think we’re on?” said Lyn from Narcissa’s shoulder.  
      “The Death Eaters,” said Ron, “obviously—”  
      “Considering that they were wanting to torture and kill us,” said Lyn, “I can’t imagine any of us three would be on THAT side. I reckon we’re in with, this guy, with the glasses — hello again — Draco’s friend! Sorry I’ve forgotten your name...”

      “Huh?” said Ron Weasley, face contorting in confusion. “Right. You don’t recognise Harry, bloody, Potter. You think we’ll believe that?”  
      “What are you playing at?” snarled Granger, raising her wand.  
     Weasley edged closer, and copied her defensive pose.  
      “Can you two calm down?” Potter asked.  
      Weasley and Granger both looked towards him incredulously.  
      “Mrs Malfoy doesn’t have a wand,” said Potter quietly. “And Draco is my...friend...sort of. It’s a long story, involving Dumbledore. Confusing, you can imagine. I just haven’t told you, cause, the more people that know, the more dangerous it is. But now…”

“Danger is everywhere now,” said Narcissa. “Why don’t we have a seat in the — ah — lounge area, and let Mr Potter explain.”  
       
      Just then the door opened a second time, and a stack of mattresses, and bedding floated in ahead of Andromeda. “Okay, here is some more - stuff - you’ll have to reorganise the set up in here,” she said, “and, you know, if you’re planning to stay a while, you’ll need more food supplies. Ted and I are leaving tonight….Now that the Death Eaters have the full power of the Ministry behind them, they’ll bring down the shields around the house. So we want them to see us leave. We also want the main house to look deserted if anyone makes it through. The attic should stay invisible to anyone who hasn’t been shown by one of is.”  
      “Don’t you want to stay here too?” Granger asked.  
“We think this Safe Room will be more effective if the Death Eaters track us leaving our home. But we might be back. We’ll see how it goes. As it is, we think it’s better if neither the Ministry of Magic, the Order, or the Death Eaters know about this room. And — Mr Potter — it will be more effective if you stop telling people about it.” Andromeda waved her hand at the five others there with him. “You’ve told six others in less than a week! We have only ever told you. So, slow down, thanks.”

There was a flurry of activity, under the cover of which, Potter drew up close to Narcissa and murmured, “Any word on Draco? I can see you’re still worrying.”  
      “What makes you think I’m worrying, Mr Potter,” said Narcissa.  
      “Oh,” said Potter, looking at her a little intently. “I think I’m just learning to read you a bit better. You get that little crease, you know, like Draco... between your eyes — when you’re stressing.”  
      “I’m not stressing, ”said Narcissa irritably. This provoked a small smile from the Boy Who Lived.  
      “Hmmm” said Potter. “That’s just how I’d expect Draco to respond, too.”  
      “Come on you two,” said Lyn, insistently. “We're ready to sit down and talk I think!”

      The length of the attic room looked much as it had when they had arrived, except instead of one curtained sleeping area, there were now four other mattresses tucked into various spots, with cupboards or bookshelves moved to create a semblance of privacy for each space. 

Suddenly Granger shrieked: Potter drew his wand again and jumped up as they watched a silver Patronus soar through a closed window and land upon the floor in front of them, where it solidified into a weasel that spoke in Arthur Weasley’s voice.  
 “Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.”  
 The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. The Weasley boy let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and dropped down onto the sofa: Granger joined him, gripping his arm.  
 “They’re all right, they’re all right!” she whispered, and Weasley half laughed and hugged her.

The other four of them moved to the lounge area and settled on the overstuffed couches and floor cushions in a loose semi circle.  
“Alright, explanations?” Granger asked Potter now.  
      “It won’t be quite enough, I expect,” Potter said. “But I’ll do my best. You know the night that uh... the Death Eaters got into Hogwarts?”  
      “The night you went with Dumbledore to find the locket, right?” said Weasley, rocking back on the couch and activating a leg rest that zoomed out to accomodate his lanky frame.  
      “Yes..” said Potter. “Malfoy wasn’t locked up at Hogwarts... he went with us. And when Dumbledore got called back to the school he cast a spell on Malfoy that would bind him to his Instinctual Loyalties and free him from other aspects of his personality and history...”  
“But, I thought Personality and Instinctual Typing was a purely theoretical form of magical study?” Granger interrupted.  
Weasley rolled his eyes. “Trust you to have heard of that obscure spell.”  
“Don’t be silly, Ron. I had never heard of anyone doing a loyalty _spell_ , I’ve just read about the philosophy.” said Granger, matter of factly.

Narcissa found herself looking at the Muggleborn girl from a new angle. Seated as she was, to her left, with a lamp shining behind her, she could only really see her pert profile. “As have I, though I studied the philosophy quite in depth in the first year of my Apprenticeship at the Ministry...” Narcissa commented, “it has been many years now since I delved into that branch of magic. Can you tell me, Mr Potter, what the spell revealed to you about my son.”  
      “Um, well...,” said Potter, shifting uncomfortably. “It feels a little, I dunno, ...private.”  
      “And can you tell me why -?” Narcissa began, but Potter rushed to answer her, and she fell silent. He gave a disjointed and odd explanation of the months since the incident, his words stumbling over themselves.

      “You still haven’t explained about the Loyalty Subtype,” said Granger, looking curiously from Narcissa to Potter. “Do you really think it’s so private?”  
      “Well, no, but— I mean, all right,” said Potter, his cheeks flushing.  
      “C’mon mate,” Weasley said. “It might help us get it. At the moment, we don’t really understand why you trust him? I sort of get it about the Squib and the house elf, and Mrs Malfoy...”  
“Lyn and Mitsy,” said Granger, turning her head to flash a kind smile at the two silent members of their group. She went on berating the redhead for his cavalier attitude toward magical creatures and non-magical people. But Narcissa could barely hear her words. For some reason, that brief smile had turned her hands clammy, and ground her mind to a halt. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t as though she had never seen a pretty girl smile before, after all.

With an effort she forced herself to look away from Hermione Granger, and refocus on the conversation.

Potter was speaking. “Dumbledore cast the spell, because he was convinced that only fear tied Malfoy to Vvv... oh yeah, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So, you know how there’s three survival instincts?”

“Self Preservation, Social and One-to-one?” Granger rattled off.  
Unsurprised by her knowledge he continued, “well... the things that happened after Dumbledore left... well they convinced him that Dr— ah, Malfoy’s subtypes were Dauntlessness...Sacrifice.... and Union.".  
Narcissa felt her throat constrict. She flicked back over her memories of Draco from this angle, and found them surprising. Granger looked skeptical, “ I would have expected, let’s see: Ambition or Prestige, or maybe Friendship....at a stretch... But that does seem like a highly improbable trio of loyalties, Harry.”

      There was a silence in which Weasley absentmindedly played with his footrest, releasing it and contracting it repeatedly.  
      “Well. If you’ve trusted him, and been in contact with him all this time” Granger said, looking a little hurt. “Then there’s nothing more to say. I’ll check the enchantments and get to bed.” She rose out of her seat, but before she could go far, Narcissa spoke.  
      “Miss Granger, you and Mr Potter, could have the double bed. There’s no need to stand on ceremony if we’re to live together, and I’m happy with a mattress on the floor.” 

Granger blushed bright red. “I’m not! I mean, we’re not— uh —“ she looked frantically from Potter, who was looking bemused, to Weasley, who was looking stormy.

“I apologise,” said Narcissa, lofting an elegant hand. “I misread the situation....” She couldn’t resist adding: “I, and the rest of the wizarding population.”  
      “Well, they should mind their own business!” said Weasley, his expression murderous.  
      “You make a good point though, Mrs Malfoy,” said Potter, hurrying to redirect the conversation. “If two people share the double bed, then there’s enough for everyone else to have their own. Hermione, why don’t you share with Mrs Malfoy?”  
      “But, oh…hmm...” Granger’s eyes were flicking around the room, calculating. “Yes.. it would work...”  
“Mitsy is more than happy to sleep on the cushions again,” the diminutive house elf said.

This had the opposite effect on Granger than had been intended, her eyes flashed and she set her mouth grimly, “of-course not, Mitsy! The double bed is very large, I’ll be extremely comfortable, and you can have your own bed, over there.”  
She marched off decisively, casting detection spells and analysing their security. Her face was still very pink, and she kept shooting apprehensive glances at Narcissa, as though terrified she would be murdered in her bed. Narcissa held back a strange impulse to laugh.


	11. A Coup Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Kirby_  
>  ——--

So you can throw me to the wolves  
Tomorrow I will come back  
Leader of the whole pack  
Beat me black and blue  
Every wound will shape me  
Every scar will build my throne

The sticks and the stones that  
You used to throw have  
Built me an empire  
So don’t even try  
To cry me a river  
'Cause I forgive you  
You are the reason I still fight

I'll leave you choking  
On every word you left unspoken  
Rebuild all that you've broken

~ Bring Me The Horizon ~ 'Throne'

———

After an hour of interrogation, in which Draco managed somehow, not to let his Occlumency Shields crack, the Death Eaters who had brought him to the Manor turned to Greyback in disgust. “We’ve had enough of this, he must know something about his mother and the Squib. After, the rest of our jobs today, take him with you to the Pack for the night, and we’ll see if he’s more pliable in the morning. We have more important things to do tonight.”

He was sent into the Malfoy dungeons, to await their return. Draco agreed without complaint. There was a cold certainty sinking in his belly. He wasn’t the same person now, that he had been the last time he had been forced to submit to the brutality of the Pack. He thought of Kirby. Remembered the way Derve had taught her to disarm and kill Greyback if he ever forced himself on her again. His limbs were shaking with exhaustion but he couldn’t afford fatigue. He knew that what he most needed now, was a few hours of sleep. Conjuring some soft cushions, he lay down on the stones and slept.

Greyback returned much later than he had expected, close to nightfall. There was an excited energy running through the occupants of the Manor, that made Draco dread the news that was being celebrated. Greyback let him out of the cell with a leer, flashing his pointed yellow teeth, and prodded Draco outside by wandpoint, preparing to Apparate to the catacombs. 

Greyback’s arm came around him. They twisted through the blackness of Side-Along Apparition, reappearing in a catacomb-like series of tunnels lit only by fires which had blazed in scattered tin drums. There were growls of approval and interest from all around them as they appeared.

Draco took a deep breath. He felt the muscles of Greyback’s arm around him begin to relax. In one movement, Draco shifted; rammed both elbows behind him where he judged the werewolf’s stomach to be, ignoring the pain as they connected with solid muscle. Greyback grunted in surprise, but Draco didn’t pause, he whipped his arms up behind his head, grabbing onto Greyback’s arms, and, using his own body as a fulcrum, levered him up and over his shoulder. Draco felt him leave the ground, and become airborne as he flew over his shoulder, and used that second to snatch the sharpened dagger from the sheath Derve had made for his boot. Spinning to where Greyback had thudded on the hardpacked dirt floor, he didn’t hesitate. He stomped his foot on the closest hand and slid his dagger in a smooth, firm line across the werewolf’s throat.

As Greyback’s life blood spurted out, Draco could barely hear the roar of the werewolves surrounding him over the rushing in his ears and the roiling in his stomach. He blinked back tears, tore Greyback’s wand from his twitching right hand, and cast the strongest Summoning spell he had ever attempted. “Accio, Wands!” 

Fifteen different wands came flying to him from around the cavernous space, to shouts of dismay and fear. Only fifteen wizards or witches in a group this size, seemed incredible. Even so, were too many wands for him to hold, so he dropped them on the floor in front of him, and for the first time raised his eyes to see the Pack.

He knew when they were all together, they numbered between eighty and a hundred, most of them men. Some looked like homeless Muggles, unkempt and disheveled. Others were concealed in dark jackets, or cloaks with hoods shadowing their faces. A handful of them were attractive and well kept, but the rest were uniformly rough and scarred, with harsh faces. The noise of their reaction to Greyback’s death was still echoing around the tunnel. 

Draco’s body shook with the adrenaline of fear. He raised his voice over the noise, “Listen here! I have killed the leader of this Pack!”

There was a roaring response. The mass of men was growing as more of them gathered in the central tunnel, the atmosphere reeked of danger. Draco held the wand steady, eyeing those nearest to him, “I am going to lead the Pack!” 

“Why should we follow you?” A giant of a man called back, from in the centre of the group. He was at least a head taller than the rest of the werewolves. He wore a sleeveless black leather vest, and his arms were bare apart from two intricate sleeve tattoos reaching up to his elbows. His hair was long and ragged. He was utterly terrifying.

“That is a good question! Some of you won’t want to follow me... and I don’t want all of you in my Pack. You have two options... you can challenge me for leadership, or submit to by rules. Those who I accept will move to another location, one with proper beds, bathrooms and kitchens!”

There was a murmur of interest. That such small conveniences brought up the reaction, seemed incredible. But Draco had lived here for several months; he remembered the absolute poverty of their situation. 

Draco could feel his hands beginning to shake. He hadn’t eaten since before the full moon, and he had used every ounce of the energy he had left. He needed to get to the next stage of his plan quickly.

“You will disperse into two groups! On the left, those who want to challenge my leadership by single combat, on the right those who are considering joining my Pack!”

There was a general grumbling, but to his amazement, the mass of people began to shift. The giant went to the right, arms crossed and scowling. The werewolves Draco could identify as the Ten who had been close to Greyback, moved immediately to the left, along with a handful of others. When everyone had stilled again, and an expectant hush fell over them, Draco swung his wand to the left and rapidly cast spell after spell, binding and petrifying every single one of the werewolves who wanted to challenge him. As quickly as he was casting, some of the men still made it within a few feet of him, hands outstretched like claws, eyes wild. 

When all his challengers were subdued; breathing hard, Draco addressed the Pack again. “As I said. The challenges will be by single combat. These bonds will ensure that you wait your turn. I am going to take one of you with me, to see the place I am promising to move my Pack to, and then I will return later, to explain the criteria for jointing my Pack, and to allow my challengers their chance to fight.”

He scanned the group momentarily, but decided quickly. “You! What’s your name?”

The giant’s face was impassive, “Miserere.”

“Miserere, you will be coming with me.” The slightest flicker of emotion crossed his scarred face, but he moved forward through the crowd without complaint. Draco scooped up the wands he had taken, “I will keep these, until after the fights, then they will be returned to their owners.” He stowed them in the pockets of his robes, took Miserere’s massive arm and Disapparated.

The arrived in the clearing by the Ashleaf Maple tree where the cubs had waited for the full moon. 

“Wait a moment.” Draco said. He retrieved the tent from where he had stowed it and made short work of erecting it. “Come inside.”

Miserere followed him in, and his perpetual scowl faded slightly as he took in the sprawling, beautifully furnished rooms of the tent. Draco made his way to the bathroom, and withdrew all the bottles of Pepperup Potion that were stored there. He stowed three of them in his pockets with the wands, and drank the fourth with a cough as the peppery solution traveled through his system.

Miserere was still standing in the living room, eyes wide, taking in the opulence. Draco made his way back towards him, “ I realise that this won’t house the whole Pack. But I can get more wizarding tents... as long as my takeover of Greyback’s position is accepted by the werewolves and by the Dark Lord.”

Miserere’s deep set eyes were on Draco’s pinched, white face. 

“There’s one more stop we need to make. Then we’ll go back.”

———

“You’ve killed Greyback!!!” said Kirby, trying not to hyperventilate. ”And now, you’re going back to the Pack to fight the Ten? What about the Twenty-Nine?"  
      “Your plan’s a good one,” said Derve at once. “You need to act fast if there’s any hope. I’ll come back with you.”  
      ”I’m coming too,” said Kirby, quailing inwardly.  
      “I don't think so,” said Draco, shaking his head. “Kirby - I don't want you near the Pack until we’ve —done away with the dangerous ones.”  
      “Won’t you need me?” said Kirby. “I can tell you right away, which ones deserve the same execution as Greyback. If we’re really doing this thing??”  
      “Maybe she’s right…she can identify the most sadistic ones,” said Derve slowly. “Then I will fight them... — you said single combat — to the death?”  
“And you‘ll win.” said Kirby with certainty.  
      “There’s no time…”  
      It was nightfall. Draco, Derve, and Kirby were huddled together on the veranda of the cottage. Miserere, a giant of a werewolf, was standing looking out at the misty forest around them. The other three were speaking in furious whispers, trying to catch up on what had taken place, and what would happen next.  
      As Derve and Draco debated the details, Kirby walked back into the cottage. The big room was still empty; but there were murmurs and movement from above her as the other girls occasionally stirred in their sleep.  
     Ellen emerged from the stairs, coming down from the attic, rubbing her eyes. “What’s that smell?”  
      “Rice and curry,” said Kirby. “It’s staying warm on the stove. Just serve up yourself…Draco and Derve and I have to go. . . out.”  
      “Ugh, that means we’ve got to do all the dishes by hand,” said Ellen testily.  
      “Let’s just be glad if we comes back alive,” said Kirby. “Draco’s been out risking his life for us.”  
      “And…why was he doing that?” said Ellen tentatively.  
      “Greyback came for him,” Kirby said dully. “Just after you lot all fell asleep.”  
      Ellen’s face paled. “Oh.”  
Her usual chatter was immeadietely subdued, she served herself some dinner and began eating faster than Kirby had seen her do anything. Kirby glanced at the door and sank back down on the couch she had napped on earlier in the day. She yawned widely, her jaw cracking. On the floor near her feet was a glimmer of gold, and she realised she must have dropped the coin in her sleep. It was warm to the touch.

**Kirby? Where is Draco?? KIRBY?**

****

_Oh, hi! Sorry. I didn’t realise I’d messaged you, must’ve done it in my sleep_

****

**You’re there! Where’s Draco?**

****

_He’s alive. He’s here... but he’s in a lot of danger..._

****

**What has happened?? I’ve been messaging you every hour since two o’clock!!**

****

_He was taken in by the Dark Lord’s trackers... but he killed Fenrir Greyback... he is fighting to be Leader of the Pack...so he’s challenging the Ten most sadistic werewolves to single combat..._

****

**. . . ... . . .**

****

_You okay?_

****

**... are we talking about the same person??**

****

_Do YOU know any other Draco’s?_

****

**Draco Malfoy? Draco MALFOY?? Is taking over the werewolves??**

****

_Yeah... it’s terrifying..._

****

**WHAT ON EARTH MAKES HIM THINK HE’S QUALIFIED FOR THAT?**

****

_Well, not qualified exactly... but he can be determined... and clever... so hopefully it goes okay..._

****

**WHAT THE FUCK?? Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!**

****

_Yes, I’m worried too. And... don’t get me wrong, cause I love all this cursing... but I’m not quite thirteen years old yet? So you might not want to take it too far..._

****

**THE FUCKING RECKLESS SUICIDAL GIT!**

****

_I wouldn’t go that far... he confiscated all the wands before doing his little revolution..._

****

**HOW is that enough? He is surrounded by WEREWOLVES!!!**

****

_Okay, I feel like I should be getting you to chill out... counting stuff...or breathing exercises or something_

****

**HOW ARE YOU SO CALM?**

****

_We’ll, I mean, I know he’s the youngest werewolf apart from me and the cubs... but he’s also a wizard, and he has land and money and leadership skills... he’s probably better suited than most_

****

**skrbeirnekpetbwiehr**

****

_I’m monolingual... sorry_

****

**That was my brain short circuiting... Ohhhh I’ve been so thick!! It’s super obvious now**

****

_What is?_

****

**Don’t worry, I’ll pull myself together soon... Oh Shit! Gotta go!**

****

_Okay?_

****

Kirby, shoved the coin in the pocket of her jeans and jumped up when Derve called her name. Ellen abandoned her bowl of food and chased her out the door... 

****

****

———  



	12. Snakes Start to Sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my intention that this will be the only chapter in the book from Harry’s POV...

Wolves come out of the woodwork  
Leeches come from out of the dirt  
Rats come out of the holes they call home  
And I fall apart  
And the snakes start to sing

If you can't soar with the eagles  
Then don't fly with the flock.  
Are you still getting high?  
Did you catch your own reflection  
In the knife my mother held?  
Or the hell in my father's eyes?

Was I your knight in shining armor?  
Or the apple of your eye?  
Or just a step, a fucking step to climb

Wolves come out of the woodwork  
And the snakes start to sing

~ Bring Me the Horizon ~ ‘And the Snakes Start to Sing’

———

The air hung heavy and ominous, like the storm clouds gathering in the sky he could see through the picture window. Fear bubbled in Harry’s veins, flowing in time with the Wolfsbane potion bubbling in the cauldron in Draco’s room. He turned to Mitsy, “okay, I think I could get back here again.”

The house elf smiled at him serenely. Her limbs were still shaky from her brush with death, but she seemed happy to be helping him. “Harry Potter is a good friend for Master Draco. Mitsy will take you to him now.”

Harry wasn’t sure why he was so determined to see Malfoy with the Pack. The realisation that this was what Malfoy had been so secretive about all this time, had hit him like a ton of bricks. Malfoy had always been so inexplicable, a puzzle that Harry wanted to figure out. He thought that perhaps if he just followed him long enough; if he just made sense of the puzzle; then maybe Malfoy would stop fascinating him. Maybe he would stop constantly intruding on Harry’s thoughts and memories.

Misty took his arm and Disapparated with a crack. They were at the entrance of a tunnel into the ground. “Mitsy is taking you this close. Master Draco will hear us come if we goes inside. Harry Potter must find him in the tunnels.”

When the house elf disappeared, and left him alone beneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry felt the first real stirrings of uncertainty. It felt like a trap. After all, the tenuous connection he had with Malfoy might all amount to an elaborate plan for handing Harry over to Voldemort.

He hesitated in the entrance. He knew that Hermione and Ron would be horrified to find out that he wasn’t there with them, sleeping soundly in the Safe Room, but he couldn’t bring himself to back away. Setting his jaw he began to walk forwards.

As he moved cautiously through the tunnel, he realised that inside was not as narrow and constrictive as he had expected. He placed one hand on the rough, stony earth that made up the walls and looked upwards. The deeper he went, the more the ceiling disappeared, leaving a cavernous space full of shadowy darkness.

He soon came to a place where the tunnel forked into three. He dimmed the light at the tip of his wand and stood still, trying to decide which path to take. To the left he hear a small echo of voices, far off and faint. They grew louder as he traversed the hardpacked earth. After about five minutes he was able to put out his light and be guided by a warm glow that emanated from the end of the subterranean passage.

The sight that greeted him when he reached the end, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. In a chamber as large as the Great Hall, there was a circle of fires blazing in tin drums. The firelight flickered and glowed with a magical strength that sent sparks up high enough to penetrate the thick darkness that enclosed them.

But it wasn’t the fires, or the illuminated walls and sharp fanged stalactites dripping from the far away ceiling in metre long spikes, that caught and held his attention. It was the terrifying sight of a group of people who looked like something from the Underworld in a tale. There looked to be about a hundred of them, clustered in groups of three or four; with savage faces, wearing clothing that was either filthy and tattered, or comprising mostly of leather and spikes. Just looking at them brought to Harry’s mind memories of death and terror.

The percolating calcareous water that dripped slowly from above them, had no impact on any of them. They were all focused on a knot of people in the centre of the chamber, within the circle of fires.

There was a tall man, nearly as tall as Hagrid — though not as wide — with long hair and a leather vest, armed with an axe, and a short silver dagger. Nearby was a short burly man, who would have reminded Harry of Charlie Weasley, if it weren’t for the fact that almost his entire body was covered in intricate black tattoos. One half of the pictures were faded, while the other side of his body nearly made Harry’s vision blur with the stark darkness of the marks. He was carrying an ornate dagger in each hand. They looked like something that Voldemort would use in a ceremony of Dark Magic.

Disconcertingly, there were two young girls standing between them.   
Harry’s mouth went dry... What those children were doing there, he could only guess, but he didn’t like the dark places that his thoughts instantly took him. 

He crept closer; eyes on the children. Wondering if he he could get them out.

Suddenly, one of the girls, thin and lanky, with bright red hair, ran forward and whispered in the ear of the fifth and last person in the circle: a tall man, with a shaved head. He wasn’t strikingly handsome, but there was something arresting in his stance and the position of authority he clearly held in this group. The entire cavern full of werewolves had their eyes on him, and fell silent as he began to speak.

Harry swallowed. He’d found Draco Malfoy. But the Malfoy he was looking at wasn’t the same one that he had once come across in the Hogwarts bathrooms, crying. He looked lethal. A deadly sharp dagger was in his left hand, and his wand hand was raised. 

His elegant, sharp-featured face was tinged with the unmistakable arrogance of nobility, and his voice was as posh and polished as ever as he spoke.

“We are not good people. We are werewolves. We have all been desolate — and desperate — and sometimes cruel.” There was a murmuring response in the crowd of listeners.

“Last night you saw a taste of my cruelty. And my determination. The death of Fenrir Greyback was an execution — or a murder — however you want to look at it. He deserved to die for the extent of his cruelties: because no human being — wizard, witch, werewolf or Muggle should allow their cruelties to run so rampant that they become such a stain on humanity.”

He began to walk in a slow circle, making eye contact with each pocket of the werewolves who watched him expectantly. “There are those of you who agree with me. Who believe that this Pack deserves a better leader. Who want to have a proper bed to sleep in at night, real meals; to live like human beings again!”

The rumbling responses were taking on a positive tone. “I have taken Miserere to the place where my Pack will live. I’ve shown him the possibilities. He has passed my assessment for the kind of person I want to come with me.”

The giant man with long ragged hair, didn’t speak but he raised a solid fist in the air in agreement with these words. The excited whispers spread.

“Over there — are those who wish to challenge my leadership. They believe they have what it takes to take Greyback’s place. I will not be cruel to them. I have no desire for more murder or execution. But I will not tolerate any question of my authority after this night. Tonight is the time to fight for the leadership.”

Harry turned his gaze to the cluster of people Draco had indicated, that he hadn’t noticed beforehand. Five or six of them were standing frozen, petrified in a group. The others were in various stages of movement, but their hands were tied and their feet were locked in place. 

“They will be given the opportunity to prove themselves by one on one combat... to the death. These fights will take place tonight. Derve — the First In Command of my Pack, will take the first challenger. I will take the next. Followed by Miserere who will be — my Second in Command. In this way, everyone who wishes to challenge for leadership will be sorted.”

Without any ceremony, the burly man, Derve, marched over to one of the still figures and held out a dagger. Draco waved his wand over the man, who sprang to furious life. He snatched the dagger that was being offered to him and immediately stabbed forward, drawing blood. Derve barely seemed to notice that he was wounded. He was like a battering ram. He wielded his arms like steel girders, his legs like the trunks of trees. Although the werewolf he had chosen was almost twice his height, and clearly no stranger to a fist fight, he had no chance to draw blood again. In less than five minutes his opponent was lying on the ground bleeding from at least three fatal wounds.

Derve scooped the spare dagger up from the ground and walked back to his place. He murmured something to the small blonde child and she ran forward to whisper another message to Draco and pass him the dagger. He walked forward.

A log fell in one of the nearest fires: Flames reared, their light darting across his pointed white face, and suddenly Harry had a glimpse of the frightened boy he knew. Draco seemed to choose an opponent at random. He dropped the dagger in front of them and then stepped back several paces before releasing the spell that held them.

His gaunt, exhausted face, and slight figure, seemed suddenly totally bereft of the power and muscle that had won Derve’s fight. Harry’s fingers gripped his wand, unsure what to do.

Draco’s opponent rolled his shoulders experimentally, then picked up the dagger with calm deliberation. His eyes narrowed and his brutal face hardened. Draco launched himself forward. Trying to catch his opponent off guard. The rapid series of strikes he attempted were blocked each time, and Harry’s heart began to hammer wildly in fear. The fight seemed to stretch on for hours, though in actual fact it was probably only a few minutes longer than the first. Draco’s breath was coming hard and fast, and his opponent was beginning to sneer with a triumphant confidence, when suddenly Draco feinted to the side and spun behind him stabbing backwards with the dagger and then dashing away. The other man staggered forward. His mouth shaped a surprised ‘O’ before he fell face down, blood still gushing from his side.

Draco stalked over to Miserere and handed him the dagger. Harry didn’t watch as the giant werewolf chose an opponent, or any part of their fight. His eyes were solely focused on Draco. His body was shaking very slightly, and he blinked rapidly, as if to remove dust —or tears— from his eyes. He reached into the pocket of his robes and downed a bottle of potion that looked similar to the Pepperup potion Pomfrey gave students who had the flu.

As his shaking slowly subsided Draco took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Suddenly his whole body stilled. He took another breath, inhaling so that his nostrils flared ever so slightly. His slanted brows drew together tightly and his lips tightened into a firm, unforgiving line. He raised his eyes and looked directly at the empty space of air where Harry currently stood. Even though Harry knew that he couldn’t possible be visible, the gaze was so direct and primal that he felt it down to his toes.

The small glimpse of Draco-the-boy was gone completely. All that remained was Draco the man. The werewolf. There was a cold hunger in his eyes that made Harry shiver. But he couldn’t look away.

Three dead werewolves now littered the ground in the circle. Miserere returned to stand beside the children. Draco ground his teeth together and turned back to the group. “Incendio! ... Incendio! ... Incendio!” 

The bodies went up in flames; the sickly scent of burning flesh filled the cavern. 

“Before the next combatants come forward — We will explain the rules of my Pack. Kirby!”

The redheaded child danced forward. Her eyes bright in the firelight, her face white, her mouth twitching as though eager to speak. She whispered in Draco’s ear again. He rolled his eyes.   
“Sonorous!” He directed the spell towards her and she looked thrilled. When she spoke her voice was amplified so that it echoed around the cave.

“Number One! Fight fair — no backstabbing, unnecessary cruelty or sadism.” She grinned up at the ceiling as the words bounced back at her for a moment. Then she held up two fingers. “Number Two! Work hard — contribute to the needs of the Pack, protecting and providing for each other.”

She held up three fingers; “Number Three! LEARN — everything you can, about wizards, about Muggles, about war, learn to read, learn to fight. Be the smartest and best you can be!”   
She smiled cheekily for a moment. “That’s it... Draco doesn’t like to count very high.” Her high pitched giggle disappeared as Draco ended the spell, and cuffed her gently on the arm. 

As she scurried back to her little blonde companion, Draco said, “I took some wands earlier. I apologize for that. Please come forward if I have your wand.”

There was scattered movement as about a dozen people made their way cautiously towards him. When they were an arms length away Draco held up his hand. “Before I return your wands, I need to know that you understand the terms by which you may join my Pack. If you do not wish to remain with me, you may leave as soon as you have your wand.” 

One by one they came forward and spoke quietly to him. Several of them Disapparated as soon as they received back their wands, but the rest stowed their wands and remained with the group. 

Derve moved forward to choose his next opponent, and disposed of them with what seemed like very little effort. He walked along the line of those who had been bound, and dropped the dagger in front of one of them, nodding to Draco and moving out of the way.

Draco pulled his robes up over his head. Leaving them where they fell on the ground he stood there in a pristine white singlet, and pale shorts. His whole body was slim, wiry, and lightly muscled. The firelight reflected off the planes and angles of his body giving him a golden tinted hue mixed with shadows.

Draco’s fingers tightened on his dagger. He looked up, directly at the space where Harry stood. Glaring, he turned on his opponent and released the spell. The werewolf sprang at him swinging the dagger and their bodies slammed together.

There was a ferocious intensity in this fight that hadn’t been present in the other. Harry edged closer and closer. He was unable to look away. There was something stunningly beautiful and somehow intimate about fighting. Draco was levering his body in elegant ways, trying to unbalance the other man and find a striking point for his dagger. Blood was seeping from multiple small scratches on both of them. 

The tension in the cavernous hollow was palpable. Suddenly the small and silent blonde girl shouted, “you can do it Draco! —DRA—CO!!—DRA—CO!!!”

Her tiny, shrill voice echoed through the silent cave and, seemed to expand and deepen as more voices joined her. Draco’s opponent glanced up at the crowd incredulously, and that moment of distraction was all that Draco needed to slide under his guard and slice his dagger forcefully across his tender throat.

Without stopping to check on the body that was tumbling to the floor, Draco stabbed his dagger into the earth floor and strode past Miserere. “Continue on. There is something I need to do.” 

While the attention of the crowd turned towards the next confrontation, Draco made a beeline for exactly where Harry was standing. There was blood spattered over his face and arms, his expression was fierce. Harry found himself backing away as Draco came closer, but the other man didn’t touch him. He merely muttered, “follow me,” in a voice that brooked no argument, and walked straight past him.

Harry followed.

When they had turned the corner into another smaller offshoot of the tunnel, Draco spun around. “Muffliato!” A shield of soundlessness blocked off the tunnel from the shouts of the werewolves. 

“Lumos!”   
In the harsh light emanating from his wand, Draco looked more intimidating than ever, uneven shadows stirred around them as he circled Harry slowly. “Potter. Take off the fucking cloak. You can’t hide from me.”

As Harry slid the cloak off his head and shoulders, Draco’s unsettling stare became even more intense. The hunger in his feral grey eyes deepened. “Why are you here, Potter? Are you here to save the day? There is no good and evil here — only wolves and murderers...”

“Uh— I’m not— er...”

Draco stepped closer as he spoke, his voice becoming softer and more dangerous. “What was your intent in coming here? To get my attention? To find out every last secret? Well, you have my attention. And now you know it all... are you happy with the results of your fucking stalking??”

This sparked Harry’s temper. “I’m not stalking you! I was worried, okay?? I got some weird messages from Kirby, and then I heard that the Ministry had been taken over, and Scrimgeour was dead... and everyone was in danger... and... I... thought of you! Okay??”

The anger drained slowly from Draco’s face. The gap between them was so small that Harry could feel Draco’s exhale. Almost against his will, Harry could feel his arm lifting of it’s own accord, and he laid it gently on Draco’s muscled chest. He could feel the fast pace of Draco’s heart under his splayed fingertips. Draco’s voice was strained with some kind of strong emotion, “Potter — you can’t be here. I wish I WASN’T here!”

His feet shifted slightly so that their entire bodies were pressed together, hip to hip. Draco swallowed. His eyes slid shut and he dropped his wand hand. For a moment, he leaned into Harry’s touch, letting the gap between them dissolve completely. Harry felt his heart lifting with an expectant and inexplicable hope and excitement as Draco’s calloused hand came under his chin. The gentle touch of his fingers sent a thrill through Harry’s body and a warm glow settle in his belly.

With their lips only a hair’s breadth apart Draco spoke; and at first, the aching loneliness in his voice masked the meaning of his words. “Go. The. Fuck. Away. Potter. There is no place for you in my life.”

He turned his back on Harry without another word, and disappeared back the way they had come. Even though he hadn’t followed Draco to find a place in his life, it was as though a broken shard had split off and stabbed itself into his chest. Hurt and alone, he barely noticed the sounds of the werewolves that were echoing from the cavern. 

He knew he should return to the Safe Room, but when he Disapparated he found himself back in Draco’s room at the cottage in the woods of Malfoy Manor. Lighting the oil lamp, and laying his wand and cloak down on the desk, he began to walk slowly around the room, touching the objects that Draco surrounded himself with. One length of the small cubicle was a long window that had been charmed to overlook the tops of the forest towards the hulking Manor house. The moon was still close to full, and its waning light made a picturesque view of the scene in shadowy greyscale.

The rest of the walls of the cubicle were floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled with jars of potion ingredients and books that would interest Hermione, and must have been pilfered from the Malfoy Manor Library itself. Several books lay open on the desk that ran the other length of the room, along with two bubbling cauldrons. He peered at the notes on the parchment beside the potion. They seemed to be calculations. Quantities of ingredients needed to make Wolfsbane for a whole pack, and whether or not cheaper substitutes for expensive ingredients had been tried.

Turning to the final item in to room, Harry felt a tiredness wash over him. Draco’s bed was narrow and simple, unadorned but somehow welcoming. He lay down on it, curled himself into a quiet question mark, and fell into a restless sleep.


	13. Subtleties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit slash in this chapter! Just so you’re prepared :)  
> Just skim it if you happen to disapprove...

I'm no saint  
You're no martyr  
One more night playing heart piniata  
How do you say goodbye?  
How do you say goodbye,  
When you've hardly said hello?  
The only way we know,

Let's fuck, till the sun comes up  
Because we haven't got long, but we got enough  
A night to remember, a day to forget  
Heart attacks waiting to happen,  
So come a little closer, tell me it's all in our heads

How do you say goodbye,  
When you've hardly said hello?  
Let's fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!  
Let's fuck till our lungs give up  
(It won't be long)  
A night to remember, a day to forget  
If our eyes were diamonds, we'd be rich  
Your voice makes my heart skip beats  
So keep quiet before it quits on me  
Your voice makes my heart skip beats,  
So keep quiet before it flat lines  
Before it flat lines  
I'm dead

Tell them all we're dead  
We can hold the wake right here in this bed  
Sunk into you, tangled in sheets  
Buried in blankets six foot deep, again

~ Bring Me the Horizon ~ ‘Fuck’

———

There was a definite shift in the air when Draco stumbled into his room at one in the morning. Heavy rain of another summer storm was splattering against the window; he opened it with a flick of his wand, letting the moisture heavy air flow through the room.  
      He had just reached to pull his tattered and bloody singlet over his head, when his tired mind computed that the scent of Potter in his room wasn’t a figment of his longing.  
      “Potter!” He snapped, yanking his shirt off. “Potter? What the fuck are you doing in my room? I told you to fucking GO AWAY!”  
      Potter rolled over on the bed and blinked at him sleepily. “You were the one— who told me...”  
      Draco shut his eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were working properly. “How the fuck, do you interpret go-away for go-to-my-BED??”

Potter was waking up a bit more now and his words slurred together a little less. “The other day— you said I wasn’t using —my invisibility cloak —for what it was intended...”  
Draco’s exhaustion seemed to be messing with Potter’s meaning, but he was too tired to try to understand. He shimmied out of his shorts and cast a cleaning spell over his body. “I’m pretty sure I suggested scandalous trysts...not visiting the heart of your enemy’s base...”

      Potter had propped himself up on his elbows and now seemed completely awake. He stared at Draco’s naked body, in the dim light from the one oil lamp.  
      “Uh—Mitsy brought me under the invisibility cloak. We came to your room first— before the tunnels, don’t try and tell me this is the heart of V—Tom’s base-”  
      “Fine!” said Draco angrily, “you’re free to put yourself at risk wherever you like! Fucking Chosen Boy!”  
      “—I wanted to see if you were alive, Malfoy -”  
      “Well, now, you’ve seen.” He motioned to his scarred and scrawny body, on full display. “Now — fuck off.”

      Potter sat up slowly. “I will soon... if— if you really want me to go.”  
      Draco felt his heart sink, he couldn’t deal with this right now. He just wanted to collapse and cry, and let out all the emotions that had been building in him, for a lifetime. “Of course.”  
He sat down on the bed abruptly. “What did you come for?” he asked.  
      “Well, as far as I can tell,” said Potter. “Apparently I’ve totally missed the obvious,” he shifted gingerly on the bed, swinging his legs over the side so that they were hip to hip...“it sounds stupid, but I had no idea — that you —that you’re—“  
      “A monster,” Draco said, bleakly.

      “Lupin is a werewolf too, you know,” Potter said, calmly, “I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me…but…”  
      “Never mind, Potter,” said Draco. “You want to know the rest of what happened tonight? You couldn’t cope with not knowing? I’ll tell you...but I’m too tired to debate whether or not werewolves are inherently evil...”  
      “Okay, then,” said Potter, his face, disconcertingly close, and turned towards Draco, who could feel flickers of arousal, despite his shattered body.  
      Instead of fighting off the emotions that Potter’s closeness brought, in his tired state, Draco breathed deeply and let the scent comfort him, just for a moment.  
      “Fuck,” he said in a muffled voice, swallowing convulsively, to hold back tears that were welling up, thick and fast. “Fucking hell Potter... oh my god, you are such a golden boy.”  
      “No wonder you’re so fond of me then,” said Potter grimly. Draco could feel the heat of his body, only inches away. He lay back, sideways on the bed, his knees still hanging over the edge and threw an arm over his eyes.  
      “Yeah, well, you want what you can’t have, isn’t that the human way?” said Draco quietly. “Though...I can hardly classified as human anymore…”  
      “You — want me? Let’s remember just how many times you’ve told me to get lost tonight,” said Potter.

      “Don’t misquote me, Potter — I’m pretty sure I never used those words..”  
      “No, yours were more forcefully said with the f-word every second moment,”  
      Draco was quiet for a moment. There was a rustling sound as Potter eased on to his back beside him. The sound of their breathing was loud in the quiet room.  
      “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you swear.” said Draco. “Do you? At all? Or is it just another part of what makes you better than other people?”  
      “I swore a lot tonight, when Kirby said something about you killing Greyback and challenging the werewolves to single combat.…”  
      “Derve made sure I got the weakest fighters to go up against, mostly wizards who’d never learned to fight without a wand...”  
      Potter whistled through his teeth. “I couldn’t have fought them.”  
      “Oh, don’t go making it heroic.” said Draco impatiently. “I only had to fight four of them. Fucking hell, no wonder you’re such an arrogant prick, you’d think that walking down some stairs without tripping was amazing.”  
      “Not quite,” said Potter, his voice smiling. “Though I’m more used to you exaggerating to make yourself sound better than you are...”  
      “There’s a first time for everything.” said Draco, sleepily biting back a smile.

      He shifted his right had on the bed between them, and warm, calloused fingers brushed against his. Draco pretended not to notice as their fingers threaded together, gently filling each gap.  
      “It was awful wasn’t it? So much blood.”  
      “It was scary.”  
      “Well, in actual fact,” said Draco. “Derve took all the really scary ones. But, I don’t know how long it takes me before I can... you know... get used to it like he is.”  
      “Do you have to get used to killing?” said Potter in a shocked tone.  
      “Nah, Potter,” said Draco, smiling into his arm. “I reckon when T-Tom comes b-back I’ll just say... Change of plan buddy, why don’t we all make friendship bands and forget the war, hey—“  
      “How are you laughing about this?” Potter whispered. “Won’t you wake up the kids?”  
      “I'm really tired... I haven’t slept for two nights... the Pepperup only goes so far, you know?” He muffled his giggles in his arm, but Potter rolled his eyes and, releasing Draco’s hand, cast the Muffliato charm over the room.

      His hand felt cold and empty all of a sudden. Mortification and anger swept through him. Draco was lying there, naked and vulnerable, confiding his feelings in the one who had the most power to hurt him, in all the world. He put his hand out and shoved Potter off the bed. It wasn’t a strong push, by werewolf standards, but caught off-guard Potter tumbled to the floor.  
      “Ouch! What on earth—?”  
      Draco seized the opportunity to climb into his bed and tuck the covers up under his chin. Turning to face the wall, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

      “Go back to your friends, Potter. There’s nothing for you here.” His voice was thick and clogged with the salty water that was beginning to pour down his cheeks. There was movement on the bed beside him, and Potter’s earthy scent enveloped him as he slid closer, only to wrap his arms around his body. “I thought we were friends too, I remember shaking on it.."  
      Ignoring the voice in the back of his head that told him how much he would regret this moment of weakness, Draco sniffed and curled his weary body into Harry’s embrace. “You...should...go...”  
      But Harry only held him tighter as his sobs consumed him. “I will,” he soothed. “I’ll be gone before morning.”

      When Draco’s weeping finally ceased, sleep refused to claim him. Instead, visions of the men he’d killed that night rotated in his brain. Sliced throat. Stabbed kidney and sliced renal artery. Sliced throat. Severed spine. So much blood. So much fear. He could feel bile rising in his throat and the strong arms around him were no longer enough to keep the sick feeling at bay.

      He rolled over unceremoniously. Potter gave a squeak of surprise and regarded him through his round glasses. “Can’t sleep?”  
      “No... I need... I need something...” The hollow neediness was spreading through him, screaming through his arteries and igniting his veins.  
      Something in his expression must of changed because he suddenly looked uncomfortable, and a little fearful. His voice cracked, “Wha— uh— What do you need?”  
      Ignoring the question, Draco studied him, “I don’t remember you wearing glasses to bed...”  
      Potter flushed bright red, “Well... I’m not staying... right? Remember the ‘fucking go away’ request?”  
      Draco let his heavy eyelids close half way, looking up at Potter from under his thick lashes, “the ‘fucking’ part of that is the only thing interesting me right now...”

      Potter stopped breathing. After a few beats without oxygen, he seemed to realise and gasped in a breath, only to choke on it. A frantic desire for something real, something powerful, took over all of Draco’s thinking. The usual warnings that screamed in his mind when he was around Potter, were blissfully faint and far away.  
      “Potter...” he murmured. “—Harry... why are you wearing so many layers?” He tugged ineffectually at the heavy robes. “C’mon, fairs fair. If I’m gonna be naked... you shouldn’t be wearing more clothes than a Sherpa on a mountain...”

      Potter’s brain also seemed to be malfunctioning, because he nodded, as though this was a perfectly reasonable statement; he carefully placed his glasses on the closest shelf with shaky fingers, and slid out of his robes and underclothes. Draco tugged the sheets up and pulled him in.

The bed was so narrow that the two of them had to be pressed together in order to fit. Draco could feel tension thrumming through Potter’s taut body as clearly as he could feel the warm length of his erection. Draco himself was past the point of feeling timid, or worried, or uncertain, all he could feel was desire. He pressed himself closer so the length of his dick rubbed up against Potter’s. His clear green eyes widened even further, and his breath came in short, breathy pants from his open mouth. 

Draco grinned lazily at him and it was all the invitation the other man needed. He pressed his open mouth against Draco’s lips and slid into warm, wet kisses that hardened their bodies further and entwined them. Potter’s shaky hands were caressing his back, tracing the ripples of his muscles, lower and lower. 

Draco ran his fingers through the soft silk of Potter’s messy hair, tugging gently and marvelling in the way that the dark-haired man’s body responded. With groans, and thrusts and a pressing need. Desperate kisses left little room for breathing.

The taste of his lips chased away the dark memories of death that were haunting him. “My god... Potter... your lips... fuck... you taste amazing...” Draco whispered between kisses. 

Though the sounds within the room were being held in by the spell they had cast, the soundtrack of pounding rain outside crashed in through the open window and set a rhythm for their movements.

“—Harry... surely you can call me... Harry... if we’re doing...this—“ Potter whispered back, grasping Draco’s ass and pulling him down slightly so that his dick slid and slipped in the delicious space. Draco rolled him onto his back and pressed in even more firmly, feeling the small compressed place that his dick was prodding. 

“Harry.” He panted, as Potter thrust against his belly in slippery, anxious movements. “Do you... Have you... Would you like to... Oh God...”

The sound of Potter’s quiet laughter, in response, made Draco’s heart skip a beat. Somewhere deep down a voice screamed that he shouldn’t do this, that his heart would not survive the trauma. 

“Draco...” he kissed him firmly, tugging at his lower lip with his straight white teeth. “I do... I haven’t...I’d like to...Merlin! That feels...incredible.”

Gingerly pressing, slowly moving deeper and deeper, Potter made a sound that was a blend of pleasure and pain. Draco froze. Pushing his upper body up with his arms, but keeping his lower body as still as its shaking would allow, he stared down into the bright green eyes beneath him. “Fuck. Did I hurt you? Shit. You’re so tight and I just... holy fuck...”

Potter groaned and shifted very slowly, “mmmm... yeah... initially... it hurts... yeah...” A shy smile was breaking out over his face now, and he pressed his calloused hands into the small of Draco’s back drawing him down closer, and deeper. “But now... now... it feels...” He swallowed. His Adams apple bobbing. “Like nothing I’ve ever experienced... it feels amazing.”

Draco couldn’t help smiling back. He let out a huff of relieved laughter and sank his bare chest down onto Potters, feeling the soft brush of the handful of dark hairs that spread out between his nipples. He captured his lips again, thrusting gently, eliciting groans of pleasure that could find no words.

The rain poured down on the cottage, thunder rising to a crescendo, rivulets of water creating temporary creeks through the undergrowth. The storm provided them with a heavy cocoon, sheltered by each other’s bodies, and for just a moment, the terror of the war was eclipsed.


	14. Windows

You are subtle as a window pane standing in my view  
but I will wait for it to rain so that I can see you  
you call me up at night  
when there’s no light passing through  
and you think that I don’t understand  
but I do

Yeah, we don’t say everything that we could  
so that we can say later – oh, you misunderstood  
I hold my cards up close to my chest  
I say what I have to and I hold back the rest

I wonder what was wrong to begin with that they should all have to pretend  
we lost sight of everything when we have to keep checking our backs  
I think we should all just smile  
come clean and relax

Someone you don’t know is someone you don’t know – get a firm grip before you let go  
for every hand extended another lies in wait –  
keep your eye on that one  
anticipate

If there’s anything I’ve learned  
all these years on my own  
is that I have to find my own way there  
and I have to find my own way back home 

~ Ani DiFranco ~ ‘Anticipate'

——— 

 Sharing a bed was a very strange thing, even when neither person was touching. There was a physical awareness of being wrapped up in the same sheets. A consciousness of feet, legs, torsos, arms and hands. Narcissa had never shared a bed with another person. Lucius had understood from the start that she would want her own room, and she and Adri had only ever met in fleeting and illicit places, which left no time for lying in a bed together. She lay there, staring up at the darkness, listening to the huffs and sighs of Granger trying to get comfortable. The room had been filled with the sounds of sleep for only a few minutes when Narcissa heard Potter whispering to Mitsy.

 There was a crack as they Disapparated. It took a long time for her to fall asleep. The next morning, both Mitsy and Potter were there at the Breakfast table. Though Potter looked like he hadn’t slept, he still managed to participate in a lively conversation with Granger and Weasley about what their next steps should be. Narcissa sat in the window and sipped at her tea. She had been letting her mind drift until Granger’s voice caught her attention once more.

 She seemed to be listing all the wizards and witches in history, that had the initials R.A.B.. Potter was losing what little temper he had: “but it needs to be someone who has been involved in one of the recent wars! None of those people have anything to do with You-Know-Who!”

 Coming to the bottom of her teacup, Narcissa rose languidly and walked slowly back to the kitchen. As a child she had memorised whole strings of genealogical connections between pure bloods. She ran through these lists idly, and after making her tea the Muggle way, as Lyn had showed her, she paused at table where the Golden Trio had clustered.

   All conversation ceased. They looked up at her with varying expressions of hostility, which she ignored. “I couldn’t help but overhear one of your dilemmas. It seems as though you haven’t considered recent pure blood wizards and witches in your —investigations,” she let some skeptical distaste drip into her tone, “but I know of two people in my generation who had the initials R.A.B. One was Rosemary Aveline Burke, and the other was my cousin, Regulus Arcturus Black.”

   She didn’t wait to see what they did with the information, but instead, went back into the curtained bedroom area and returned to one of the books on her bedside table. When she finally put the book down, and let her attention drift back to what was happening outside her curtains, she realised that the crack of Apparition that she’d heard hadn’t been Mitsy after all.

   As she listened to Kreacher’s story, Narcissa’s brow pinched. Regulus had been her favourite cousin, and his disappearance had hit her hard. Kreacher’s story was significant in some other way too, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.

  “Oh Reggie...” Narcissa blinked against some sudden moisture in her eyes. She had been feeling so many things this week that ordinarily she would have used potions to cope with. She could feel herself cracking around the edges. Narcissa decided to take charge of the situation, it was the only way to cope. She rose from the bed and marched out into the main room. 

“... never to tell my Mistress – what he had done – but to destroy – the first locket. And he drank – all the potion – and Kreacher swapped the lockets – and watched … as Master Regulus … was dragged beneath the water … and … “  
 “Oh, Kreacher!” wailed Granger, her voice clogged with tears. She dropped to her knees beside the elf and tried to hug him. At once he was on his feet, cringing away from her, quite obviously repulsed.  
“The Mudblood touched Kreacher, he will not allow it, what would his Mistress say?”

 “I told you not to call her ‘Mudblood’!” snarled Potter, but the elf was already punishing himself. He fell to the ground and banged his forehead on the floor. Granger was crying harder and expounding the evils of slavery. Potter was relentless. “Stop that, Kreacher! So you brought the locket home,” he said. “And you tried to destroy it?”

 “Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it,” moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work … So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open … Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave!”  
  Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. Tears flowed down Granger’s cheeks as she watched Kreacher, and her fingers twitched but she didn’t try to touch him again.

Narcissa sighed. “Stop that now, Kreacher! Yes, you have so far failed to complete Regulus’ request. That is unacceptable. However, there is still time to finish what he started. And for my part, I would like to honour his memory by seeing that happen.“  
 Kreacher looked up at her with watery, adoring eyes. “Miss, Cissy!! Kreacher would like that, Miss Cissy.”

 “It also seems as though Mr Potter has a story to tell us, Kreacher. You must stop crying so I can hear him.”  
“He’s never told us the full story, either,” said Granger, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “That makes me think it involves Draco Malfoy in some way...”

 It was several seconds before Kreacher was able be silent. “It does,” said Potter. He glanced around at his avid audience. “That was the cave that Draco and I went to... the night he was under the loyalty spell... And his Loyalty Subtype...well, er... the reason that Dumbledore was so sure about it was because Draco refused to let me drink the poison. He did it all himself... And then when the inferi were coming for us, he was the one that remembered to use fire... I would have got us killed... “

Potter pulled out a mokeskin and took out the substitute locket which Regulus had left for the Dark Lord.  
 “Kreacher, I’d, er, like you to have this,” he said, pressing the locket into the elf’s hand. “This belonged to Regulus and I’m sure he’d want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you—“

 “Overkill, mate,” said Weasley as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock at being presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own. He would have wailed incessantly if it weren’t for Narcissa saying sharply:  
 “Kreacher, I want you to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find the other locket – it is obviously an item of significance.” Granger glared at her, but Narcissa ignored it.

 Kreacher stopped sobbing and looked up at them.  
 “Find Mundungus Fletcher?” he croaked.  
“Yes, and bring him here, we need to ask him where Master Regulus’s locket is. It’s really important. We want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to – er – ensure that he didn’t die in vain.” said Potter, awkwardly. “Do you think you could do that for us?”  
 Kreacher nodded and got slowly to his feet, and Narcissa approached him. “Here Kreacher, let me put the locket on for you. Absolutely NO crying though, you understand!”

He shook as she clasped the chain around his scrawny neck, but managed not to make a sound. He then made three low bows to the pure-bloods , and even gave a funny little spasm in Lyn and Granger’s direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud crack. Granger was looking at Narcissa with a conflicted expression. Narcissa returned her gaze calmly, until the curly-haired girl looked away.

 Mitsy was pottering in the kitchen with an assortment of fresh fruit and vegetables. Lyn sat on one of the benches, swinging her legs and chatting happily. Narcissa found it interesting to watch them cook. She hadn’t ever spent any time in the kitchens, but the familiarity of objects moving by magic made her long for her wand. She wondered what a house elf would be capable of if they channeled their energy through a wand.

  Narcissa circled the room, selecting a number of books off the shelves that might prove useful for the questions running through her mind. Re-seated in a comfortable window seat, she opened up the first book and managed to lose herself in it for several hours. When she finally stood up, to stretch, she noticed Granger curled up in the opposite window seat, flicking through an old children’s book: The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She was evidently trying to decipher something in it, because Spellman’s Syllabary lay open on the low table beside her.

Potter was looking discouraged and anxious. She overheard him complaining to Weasley that if Kreacher could escape a lake full of Inferi, surely the capture of Mundungus would take a few hours at most. However, Kreacher had not returned by nightfall, and Narcissa found herself climbing into bed beside a tense and uncomfortable Hermione Granger for the second time.


	15. Vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Draco_  
>  ——--

Ask no questions and you'll get no lies  
Turn the cheek and blind the eye  
Let it go  
Bend the knee and give away your life  
Bite your tongue and close your mind  
Never know

You're not blessed you're cursed  
And it's getting worse now  
It makes no sense but it must right  
The blood and sweat you sacrificed  
Was it all for nothing  
'Cause you found no sign and see no light  
We hear no voice when we pray at night  
But we swore and now it's too late to turn back

You got hell to pay but you already sold your soul  
It's blasphemy  
But the words don't make sense no more  
What would your mother say, your faith that you ignored  
So don't try to tell me that you still believe  
No don't preach to me

~Bring Me the Horizon~ ‘Blasphemy’

———

**Are you really going to keep ignoring me? It’s been three days...**

Draco hesitated, the Galleon warm on his palm. What did you say to the person you had spent the most intimate and vulnerable night of your life with? It was impossible to find words. Perhaps it would be simpler if he had chosen to lose his virginity with someone who was great in bed but meaningless in every other way. The problem with Potter was that every single part of him was weighted with meaning, and the longer he put off replying to Potter’s messages, the more the meaningfulness seemed to weigh. 

_I didn’t realise we were counting, Potter, I’m not a lovesick Hufflepuff. Training a pack of werewolves isn’t exactly a walk on the Quidditch Pitch._

**Oh, Hi! You replied :)**

_Glad that so small a gesture makes you happy, Potter. At least you’re not going to be a high maintenance mistress, *rolls eyes*..._

**Hypothetically though, I’m wondering... what would a lovesick Sytherin be like?**

_If you had ever paid attention in History of Magic, Potter, you would know the answer to that. Salazar Slytherin’s — “Letter I Never Sent” pretty much sums it up..._

**Yeah... I’ve definitely never heard of that...**

_Didn’t think so_

**Mitsy’s been baking almond biscuits, they’re amazing...**

_Fuck you... they’re my favourites! Derve is trying to teach us all to cook, with only a tiny bit of help from one of the house elves now and then. It’s awful..._

**Do you think... um... could I...uh... I could bring biscuits...**

_If you’re trying to figure out a way to visit again — DON’T! ....Fuck. You have no idea how dangerous that was do you?_

**No! I mean... yes! I know it’s dangerous but... nothing bad happened...argh... I’m not saying the combat in the tunnels wasn’t bad! I just mean that... in your room... well... it was pretty amazing...**

_Merlin, Potter! Shut up already. It’s better not to think about it too much. It can’t happen again, okay?_

**Yeah, yeah, I know...**

_Miserere has become a favourite with the cubs. He has plaits in his hair..._

**Really? Haha, I would never have expected that! We’ve got a lead on R.A.B. but getting the real locket back is going to be hard**

_Everything is fucking hard_

**...including you?**

_Oh my god, Potter, are you trying to use innuendo??_

**Ummmm... Maybe? It‘s hard not to talk about it...**

_Try harder... ugh... now you’ve got me doing it... Put in an effort, Potter!_

**I thought I put in a pretty good effort? I seem to remember a lot of exclamations coming out of your mouth...**

_Enough... I’ve got children all around me! Do you know how awkward that is?_

**Okay... mind you, it’s no less awkward for me, your mum is here... plus Ron and Hermione; they keep asking me why I’m bright red...**

_You’re such a blusher... It’s adorable..._

**.... Draco??**

_Ugh, that was NOT what I meant to write. Fucking coin must be malfunctioning._

**Hmmm...**

_Do you know, I once made a vow to make you choke on all the words you’ve ever said..._

**Was it an Unbreakable Vow?**

_No. Just an Annoyed vow. At the same time I also vowed that I would rebuild myself, heal myself, lead myself : parentless, friendless and alone_

**How’s that one working out for you?**

_Not so great, if I’m honest. Somehow I ended up the parent of nearly thirty kids, told you I’d be your friend, and let about seventy werewolves come live on my property..._

**Yeah. Not quite the fulfilment of your vow... but it was a pretty shit vow... I think breaking it is forgivable**

_What about you?_

**I haven’t made any vows or commitments ...**

_Re-e-e-ally? You’re trying to complete Dumbledore’s secret mission and defeat Tom, as a seventeen year old... just a side project hey?_

———

“Mrs Malfoy, excuse me? Have you heard of Salazar Slytherin’s ‘Letter I Never Sent’?”

Narcissa eyed Potter curiously, “you think that will help you in your mission?”

A warm, red flush rose up his neck and bloomed on his cheekbones, “not exactly...” he mumbled. “But, I’m, ah, interested in reading it...”

Narcissa bit back a smile at his discomfort, and noticing that Granger was pretending not to listen, decided to pursue the subject. “Well, you certainly could read it, if you have the right book... however, as a child it was one of the many pieces of writing that I was taught to memorise... if you would like me to recite it?”

The boy looked at her with wide eyes, slightly enlarged by the round glasses. Out of the corner of her eye Narcissa could see Granger abandon her attempt to read, and look directly their way. 

“My love,”  
“I never thought that I would be one to be consumed by love. Passion maybe? Rage? Certainly. But this emotion that consumes me now burns hotter than any I have ever known. “

“Your face is continually in my mind. My pulse races in your presence. The curl of your hair, the hot flash of your eyes. Even though I despise myself for wanting you, I can feel nothing else. No-one else comes close. Everything else is grey and faded. In your presence the lights shine brighter, sounds change to music, pain becomes pleasure.”

Narcissa had quoted poetry or letters many times in her life, at dinner parties for her parent’s friends, or at formal gatherings where she was asked to speak. But she had rarely seen her audience so personally affected. Potter’s face was a map of emotions. Granger seemed to realise this, for her gaze was flicking from Narcissa’s face and back to Potter’s repeatedly, as she continued. 

“And yet, the very things that fan the flames of my love: your goodness, your compassion, your honesty, they keep a chasm between us. A space we can never cross. I will never be good — I can not afford compassion — I depend upon dishonesty and manipulation.”

“So I will watch from afar, heart broken and cracked, as you live out your days with those who deserve you, who can speak their love. For the words I want to say die prematurely on my tongue, and what comes out is sarcasm and prevarication. In this way I protect my heart from your rejection, and perhaps, protect your heart from my taint.”

“But I will be yours forever,  
Salazar”

There was a fragile hope in Potter’s face as she finished.  
“Oh.” He said. “Huh. Uh... thanks Mrs Malfoy...” and he scurried away to sit in his favourite chair and alternate between playing with his little golden snitch, and flipping his golden Galleon.

Granger shut her book firmly and approached her.  
“Pureblood customs seem quite similar to those of religious Muggles.” she said.  
“Do they indeed?” said Narcissa, disinterestedly.

“Yes! There is a big focus on memorisation of special books in Christianity, and Islam and so forth. But what interests me is that you still remember genealogies and letters that you learned as a child. Do you do any sort of practice to keep up the memorisation of those things?” asked Granger.  
“I find, Miss Granger, that passages I’ve memorised come to my mind and float through now and then. It isn’t intentional ‘practice’ as such, but it keeps things fresh.”  
Granger hesitated, then thrust out the book she’d spent the last few days studying cover to cover. “Have you memorised any of these Tales? I wonder if you notice anything unusual in this book that I’m missing?”

The book was small, ancient and stained. It was written in runes, but that was not problematic because Narcissa could read them as easily as English or Latin or French. She turned it over and opened the yellowed pages. Before she could accept or reject Granger’s request, there was a deafening crack — and mass of struggling limbs that appeared out of thin air right beside them. 

Kreacher disentangled himself and, bowing low to her, croaked, “Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Miss Cissy.”


	16. Home Sweet

Cross my heart I don't want to die  
But heaven knows it seems like I try  
Lost in a labyrinth for weeks on end  
I live and I learn from my mistakes  
Then forget them again  
Got a feeling in my stomach and it just won't quit  
As subtle as a shotgun and as heavy as a brick  
'Cause I'm staring at the devil and the truth of it is  
He's a lot more familiar than I care to admit

If only I could focus  
Maybe if I could see  
If I didn't know any better  
I would say he looks just like me

The roof is crashing down  
The truth is spilling out  
I've done it again  
I'm way too far in over my head

(Oh) I've crossed the line  
(No) So many times  
I don't even know what it stands for  
Home sweet hole

~ Bring Me the Horizon ~ ‘Home Sweet Hole’

———

      Noon had come quickly, and Draco stood at his cauldron carefully adding Aconite to the bubbling mixture. The cubs were talking over one another in the next room as they prepared another meal that would probably end up a sloppy, tasteless blend of unrecognisable vegetable and meat stew.

      Apparently Derve was a pretty good cook, given the right ingredients, and if he only had to feed a few, rather than a group of thirty. But somehow, everything he had so far tried to teach the cubs to make, had turned out very, nearly inedible. Draco wasn’t sure if it was the teacher or the students that were truly to blame, last dinnertime, when he had choked down a bowl of over-salted lasagne with crunchy slices of uncooked pasta sheets breaking between his teeth.  
      “Three stirs…clockwise…four anti clockwise…”  
      He had just finished the mixing, and stepped back when his alarms went off four times, and a scrabbling mess of people appeared — tumbling onto his bed. He barely had a moment to process that something was wrong when there was a scream and a flash of purple light and he made out Yaxley’s face in the tangle of bodies.  
      Draco acted instinctively, pointing his wand at Yaxley he cried, “Expelliarmus!”  
      “Petrificus Totalus!” shrieked a little witch with flyaway gray hair.  
      “Expelliarmus!”  
Draco was holding the witch’s wand before he realised that her spell had been directed towards Yaxley as well. 

      The cheerful sounds from the kitchen had completely disappeared; instead there was a banging at Draco’s door, and Derve shouting out for Draco.  
      “Stay out there,” Draco shouted back quickly - he could see the gray-haired witch turning back into Hermione Granger, and knew there would be in trouble if this scene had witnesses. “Derve! Take the children to eat outside tonight. I think - everything’s under control.”  
      Granger straightened up, her hair darkening, frizzing, and lengthening, her beaded bag dangling off one shoulder. She stared at Draco, and then turned to the large man who was shrinking down into Potter’s body, with a puzzled, suspicious look in her eyes.  
      “Why are we here?” she asked.  
      Potter looked around him in disbelief.  
      Their eyes met.  
      “Ummm... accident?”

      “What the fuck? Potter! What have you done.…”  
      “Never mind,” said Potter turning to the fourth person. Granger gasped, and knelt beside the bed next to a blood drenched Ron Weasley. She was scrabbling in her bag, clearly about to deal with the splinching problem, so Draco shoved her wand back in her hand and turned on Potter.  
 “What’s happened to Ron?” Potter asked.  
 “Splinched,” said Draco, “but that is not the pressing question right now! Why have you brought a Death Eater to my room!!”  
      Potter was looking at Yaxley, “I’m not even sure how that happened! And I didn’t mean to come here. I just, Disapparated. We were in a hurry! I wasn’t really thinking...”  
      “Fuck!” said Draco, in a furious whisper. “You’re never really thinking! Merlin’s Beard, Potter! Now I have no choice! Either we have to Obliviate him — which could completely backfire, or I’ll have to kill him! Shit!!”  
      There was a chunk of flesh missing from Weasley’s upper arm. He appeared to have fainted, but Granger was applying Dittany to the wound. “I’m pretty good at memory charms, give me a sec...”

 Before Draco could answer, Weasley groaned and opened his eyes. His skin was a pale gray and his face glistened with sweat.  
 “How d’you feel?” Granger whispered. She directed her wand at Yaxley, “Obliviate!”  
 “Lousy,” croaked Weasley, wincing as he felt his injured arm. “Where are we? And what are _they _doing here??”__  
 “In the woods of Malfoy Manor,” said Potter. “I uh, this is –“  
 “– the first place you thought of,” Granger finished for him, glancing around Draco’s bedroom. Draco tamped down a smile. Potter was flushing beet red. Draco could not resist leaning in, allowing their shoulders to bump gently and murmuring, “like I said... you’re a blusher.”  
 “Well. We need to get Yaxley back to . . . somewhere. I wonder what his last memory was.” said Granger, briskly.

      Draco looked over at Yaxley, whose eyes were now blank and dreamy. “I can find that out at least. Leglimens!”  
      “Harry” said Ron. “Is this — Malfoy’s bedroom? This is the first place you thought of?”  
      Potter just shrugged.  
      “Yaxley’s last clear memory was of walking down Diagon Alley this morning. Your obliviation spell must’ve been pretty strong, Granger.” said Draco. 

 “I’ve had some practice–“ she said.  
 But Draco was not interested in hearing the history; he wanted them to get out before someone discovered them.  
 “This is a terrible place for you guys to be, and for me, if anyone sees you–“  
 “I think we realise that, Malfoy,” said Granger coldly.  
 “Great! We’re in agreement, for once in our lives. You will need to drop Yaxley off somewhere, Granger, and Obliviate him one more time, so he doesn’t remember you taking him there.”  
 “Fine, you’ve obviously got everything under control. I’ll see you back at the Safe Room, Harry, —Ron.”  
 She marched over looking annoyed, and took Yaxley’s arm. They disappeared promptly.  
 Weasley’s still-pale face was bemused. With Yaxley’s disappearance, there was a relaxing in Draco’s tense body, and an awakening awareness of Potter’s proximity, a feeling that sat in his stomach, as heavy as a brick. Despite the thrumming apprehension of danger, delight was skipping through his body —glowing white gold—to be only a few steps away from Potter, breathing in his uniquely intoxicating scent. 

      “Right, you two better get going,” Draco snapped, as his body carried him a step closer to Potter. “What were you doing? That was a close call, wasn’t it?”  
      “We— had to get something from the Ministry... it didn’t really go smoothly.” said Potter.  
     
      “You're joking, Potter!” said Draco. “It looked like everything was going to plan!”  
      Potter ducked his head a little and smiled up at him from under his lashes, making Draco’s heart clatter about in his rib cage.  
      “Things don’t tend to, uh, go to plan, for me, you know that.”  
      Draco barked out a cutting laugh. “No, you’re the fucking King of Dumb Luck, after all.” 

      “Yeah, you’re right,” said Potter. Then, spotting the look of anger on Weasley’s face, he said, “It’s okay Ron, if I’m not offended, why should you be?“  
      “I suppose not,” he said, still glaring at Draco, and pulled himself into a sitting position. “C’mon, Harry. Take me back hey?" 

      “Yeah, okay, uh, we’ll see you later, hey?” Potter was looking at him with such a sweet expression of wistfulness, that Draco couldn’t help taking another step closer. Potter’s eyes were twin pools of mossy green, pupils dilating with desire. He didn’t blink, and their eyes held for several more beats, “I have some spare wands...from the other night...” said Draco, trying desperately to distract himself from the waves of need and desire that he could feel crashing through his body. “I’m not going to tell you to trust her, I don’t know if she’s trustworthy, but you can take one for my mother, just in case...” 

      “Okay—“ Potter breathed, stretching out a hand. Their fingers brushed. Overwhelmed by his gaze, Draco dropped his eyes as he handed over the wand, focusing instead on the dark stubble on Potter’s jaw, and a visible pulse point beating in his throat.  
      As Draco looked up again into the warm eyes, he could no longer hold back the smile that pulled at his lips. Potter’s first instinct when he was in danger, had been to come to Draco’s bedroom. The thought made his hesitant smile spread.  
    Potter’s returning smile was brilliant and free. “Thanks, Malfoy.” And without even a glance towards Weasley, he closed the small gap that was still between them and pressed his open mouth firmly on Draco’s lips. The sharp thrill of warmth disappeared as quickly as it had come; Weasley was tugging roughly on Potter’s arm. 

      “Merlin’s saggy bollocks! Get me out of here Harry! I don’t want to see ANY more! Ugh!” 

——— 

Narcissa awoke very suddenly, well before sunrise. Wondering what had caused her abrupt return to consciousness, she opened her eyes, and saw that Granger had lit the oil lamp on her bedside table.  
      She was muttering to herself and flipping through another old book, “..something so destructive that it can’t repair itself. What else is so rare –“  
“Good morning, Miss Granger,” said Narcissa, sitting up with a sigh.  
“Oh,” said Granger. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m trying to find ways of — of putting an object beyond magical repair.”  
“You need to destroy the Dark Lord’s locket,” said Narcissa, “I won’t ask why it is so hard to destroy—”  
“It would be better if you didn’t even know we had it... but seeing as you do...maybe you can help...”  
Seeing that Granger looked as though she had barely slept, Narcissa just nodded. “I’ll make us some tea. You make a list of your ideas and we’ll go from there.” 

Shrugging on the silk dressing gown that Mitsy had repaired for her, she padded through the silent attic and returned with two cups of tea. She placed one on Granger’s bedside table and looked over her shoulder at the short list she had written. “Hmm... Yes, I see, you’ve got a problem... but I could try to teach you this one:” She stretched out a long pale finger and tapped on the word: fiendfyre. 

Granger’s eyes widened, “I would never, ever dare use it, it’s so dangerous – do you really think you could teach me how to – ?”  
“Controlling it is the tricky part,” said Narcissa. “I’m not sure you could learn it here. And I can’t leave the Safe Room without risking discovery.” 

“But you really think I could learn it?” she asked.  
“It is cursed fire, Miss Granger, Dark Magic, are you sure you want to learn it?”  
“If it would help us destroy the —locket, yes.” 

 “Miss Granger, there’s something else –“ 

 “Mrs Malfoy, could you just call me Hermione?”  

  Narcissa froze, for some reason, that request felt more intimate than even sharing the large bed. She nearly refused sharply, but she knew it was in her best interests to be on Granger’s good side. 

She took a moment to walk fluidly back to her side of the bed, covering her discomfort.  
 “Yes, I suppose I could, Hermione,“ the name felt strange on her tongue, “what I wanted to show you was in The Tales if Beedle the Bard. I’ve finished reading it, and the only unusual thing I can find is in one story.”  
 Granger leaned forward, crossing the invisible line that they had established down the centre of the bed. “Really? Could you show me?”  

 Narcissa placed the book on the quilt in that central space and flipped it open at the Tale of the Three Brothers. She pointed with one neatly shaped fingernail at a picture of what looked like a triangular eye, its pupil crossed with a vertical line.  
 “I don’t think this symbol was printed as part of this book originally, it’s been inked in, look, somebody’s drawn it there, it isn’t the same as the pictures above other titles.”  
 “And it’s not a rune? I thought it was a picture of an eye...” 

 Narcissa picked up the quill from Granger’s lap, and pulled her notebook over into the middle.  
“You’ve read the story, I take it?” she asked; at Granger’s nod, she drew a straight vertical line upon the notepad. “There is a sect: a group of people who believe in the Deathly Hallows. This is the Elder wand...”  
She added a circle on top of the line: “The Resurrection Stone... and the Cloak of Invisibility,” she finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbol. “Together,” she said, “they are the Deathly Hallows; three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.”  
“But there's no mention of the words 'Deathly Hallows' in the story,” said Granger, puzzled.  
“Well, no,” said Narcissa. “Most would view it as a children's tale, but there have been various fanatics who said that there was proof that it wasn’t just a story, but ancient history.” 

“Mrs Malfoy,” said Hermione, pointing back to the book, “you think that the person who owned this book believed in the ‘Deathly Hallows’?”  
“It seems probable. It was certainly the only unusual part of this book that I could find, and it wasn’t only stupid people who believed in this, there were members of the sect in many different stratas of society.” 

“But it seems so ludicrous! I mean we know that Invisibility Cloaks are rare, but the exist. Whereas the other two...”  
“Well, even the Cloak of Invisibility is a bit far fetched, you see it isn’t purported to be a usual one — a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. They believe in a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. I can’t imagine that could possibly exist.” 

Granger was looking at her strangely.  
“One of the members of my family was a Believer. The uncle who owned this house actually. But obviously he did not find anything to substantiate his beliefs.” 

She finished her tea and stood up. “I hope that helps in some way,” she said, “if you want me to teach you how to cast the spell for fiendfyre, you’ll need to find a safe location to practice, and a way for me to get there and back without the Dark Lord’s trackers getting a hint of my trail.” 

———

****I’m in quite a bit of trouble...** **

****

_The kind of trouble you were in yesterday?_

**Nah... but Hermione is nearly as scary as Yaxley when she’s mad... apparently you’re supposed to confide in your best friends when you have a crush?**

_Soooo, you have a crush do you?_

**Shove off**

_I bet you’re blushing_

**I’ll never tell you**

_It’s okay, I can see it pretty clearly_

**So... your Mum knows that Slytherin love letter off by heart... did she make you memorise it too?**

_I’m not sure I want to answer that_

**It was, um... what word could I use... adorable... even if Salazar was obviously a moron**

_Ugh... please don’t say the A word! Unless you’re talking about a kitten... or maybe Miserere with daisies in his hair and kids climbing all over him_

**Haha I still don’t think I’ll believe that til I see it. That guy was terrifying**

_So if Granger is pissed off, how is Weasley coping?._

**He keeps dry retching and saying he’s having flashbacks**

_Excellent_

**I’m glad you’re pleased about me kissing you in front of my friends**

_Pleased is a strong word... it was... unexpected. Pleased to make Weasley feel sick anytime_  


**Unexpectedly pleasant?**

_I think it’s time for a new topic_

There was pause... 

**We didn’t say, but we got the locket yesterday...**

_What?? Woah! The real one?_

**Yes. Destroying it will be tricky... Your Mum says she’ll teach Hermione to cast fiendfyre, do you think we can trust her?**

_Does Hermione actually want to do what it takes to learn Dark Magic??_

**I’m not sure what it takes?**

_Why don’t you ask my Mother to destroy it? Skip the middleman?_

**So, you think we could trust her with the wand?**

Draco rolled over in his bed. It was past the time that he should have been asleep, but he found himself wanting to exchange messages with Potter all night. _I’m not making any promises. It is a risk. But I think she is unlikely to choose Tom’s side again_

**We’ll see how we go... Are you in bed?**

Draco bit his lip. He wondered why Potter had chosen to kiss him in front of Weasley. Was he really unashamed of what they had done together? Unashamed of Draco?

_Yes... but no you can’t come over! You are like a magnet for trouble! I’ve got to get to sleep_

**Good night, Draco**

_Goodnight.... Harry_


	17. Wands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Draco_   
>  ———

**Luna Lovegood is missing... do you think you could find out where she’s being kept?**

_Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to this story?_

**We went to see Xenophilius to follow a lead... he called the Death Eaters... we escaped... end of story**

_Fucking hell! That’s nearly as bad as your fucking visit to Godric’s Hollow. Why are you walking into so many fucking traps?_

**uh...maybe because they’re ‘traps’? Inherently difficult to spot and all that. Speaking of... can I come over tonight? To try your spare wands?**

_Riiight, my ‘spare wands’..._

**Haha, you try going wandless for a bit! Your Mum lent me the one you gave her, but it’s totally shit. Barely works for me at all...**

_You can come over tonight... I’ll put up a few more protective enchantments..._

**Really? Uh... I mean — perfect! Yup...uh...I’ll see you then!**

_Also... you could ask Mitsy to go under the Invisibility Cloak and check the Manor Dungeons for Lovegood.._

**Yes! That’s a great idea!**

_Remember though, try the same trick too many times and they’re going to figure out what’s happening... then all the house elves are at risk of torture or death_

**... you’re right... I wish you weren’t...**

The sun was going down; through his window he could see the vastness of the sky stretched out over the forest, alive with light and colour, indifferent to what went on beneath it. Draco stared out the window as he stirred the Dusk ingredients into the potion. It wasn’t long until another full moon would be upon them. Simply to still be alive, relatively unscathed, at this stage of the war, in the comfort of his own room, watching the sun set over the trees ought to have been enough for him, yet he could not help but long for Potter’s presence. He wiped his fingers and returned to the dining room to sample the day’s cooking attempt.

The hours until bedtime seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, and when Derve suggested working on his new tattoos, he jumped at the chance to use physical pain to distract his mind. In addition to the tree on his back Derve had already added an intricate series of circles representing each stage of the lunar cycle. He hadn’t added at all to the three solid lines encircling Draco’s left forearm, but his right arm from wrist to shoulder was developing into a full sleeve of spirals and symbols that would be indecipherable to most people. 

When the time finally came for everyone to make their way to bed, and the cottage settled into silence, Draco could feel his senses sharpening with expectation. He prepared his room, and the privacy enchantments, and double checked everything before sending Potter a message to let him know that all was safe. 

…Then he panicked. What should he do? Would it really just be a quick visit to choose a new wand? Or would Potter be hoping for a repeat of the only other night he had come to this room? And what did it matter what Potter wanted?

If only Draco were stronger, less ...in love…he shuddered at the words echoing in his mind... then he would be strong enough to push Potter away completely. Because what could possibly come of what had happened between them? Even if they survived the war, Draco could only foresee heartbreak in his future.

Arranging, and rearranging the wands he had kept from the werewolves he had killed, he suddenly remembered another wand. He pulled the trunk out from under his bed, and rummaged through it until he found the box he was looking for. He unwrapped the wand, and placed it with the others.

Wizarding tradition dictated that a wizard would be buried with his wand clasped in his hands... He had not given Greyback, nor his loyal followers, that mark of dignity. He wondered now, whose wand they had placed with Dumbledore’s body at his burial? Whether he had a family wand that had been passed down rather than buried, or even a ‘spare’ from a humiliated or annihilated opponent. Somehow, in the chaos of Dumbledore’s death, no-one seemed to realise that Draco still had his wand, and there had been no way for him to return it before the funeral. So he had kept it, wrapped up in his trunk. It didn’t feel right to use it. But perhaps it would be fitting, if it was the one that Potter chose.

He arrived then, without setting off the alarms. Draco didn’t look his way at first, he was finding it hard enough to breath in his earthy scent, without pressing him up against the wall in eager desperation. He concentrated on the job he was pretending to do, writing completely meaningless gibberish on a scroll of parchment. Steeling himself he turned to look at Potter, and was glad that he had taken a few seconds to delay and calm his own reaction.

Potter’s face was distant and far off. Partly, it was that it always took a few minutes for him to recover from Apparition. But, Draco was familiar with that obsessive, intense look, and he had a feeling that something had taken possession of Potter’s thoughts in a way that left little room for anyone or anything else.  
It wasn’t long before he found out exactly what it was. Without even looking at the wands Potter began pouring out the story of the Deathly Hallows: the wand, the stone, and the Cloak. He paced with agitated enthusiasm, explaining the conclusions he was coming to. “And if I could just possess them all… surely then, I would actually be able to defeat Vold-“

It was only Draco’s heightened reflexes that allowed him to pounce on Potter in time, clapping his hand firmly over his mouth before he could finish saying the word. “Shut the fuck up! Think, Potter! There are more than a dozen children in the basement, and nearly the same again in the attic! And you nearly brought the Death Eaters right here, to find us together...”

The green eyes were wide and repentant. The glaze of obsession that had been filming them since he began his monologue seemed to have shifted. Draco moved back slightly, releasing his lips, but not his grip on Potter’s upper arm. Studying him from this close, Draco wasn’t sure exactly what was different for a few moments, and when he was able to put his finger on the change, he exploded with fury.

“Merlin’s Beard, Potter! You are wide open!! I’d barely even need Leglimency to read your mind!”

“I’m sorry! Okay! I know —Tom is searching for the Elder Wand, and I want to know if he’s found it! I didn’t consciously decide to open up my mind...”

Draco sat down heavily on the bed and grabbed hold of Potter’s hands, “What good will it do you? How would it help you to know if he has tracked it down? By the time he got to it, there’d be nothing you could do anyway. And just think what he could learn from you... how many people you’re putting at risk... Close the link, Harry!”

“I — I—“ Potter sank down onto his knees at Draco’s feet, gripping his hands more tightly, “you’re right... it is pointless to pursue the Hallows, when there’s still other jobs to do, and people are in so much danger...”

He lay his dark head on their joined hands in Draco’s lap. Draco’s whole body was responding to the proximity, but this position prompted an involuntary moan to escape his lips. Potter looked up at him, suddenly alert. Draco blinked, and swallowed, “Yes. Exactly. Glad you’ve figured that out. Now. Choose a wand...”

He cursed inwardly at how breathless he sounded. Potter’s eyes were crinkling in faint amusement. “Choose a wand, hey?” He adjusted the press of his fingers, shifting them slightly so that they brushed against Draco’s increasingly obvious erection. 

Draco couldn’t move, or speak; he did his best to keep his face blank, but it seemed that Potter saw the invitation there. He released Draco’s fingers gently and slid a hand up his leg, under the soft cloth of his robes. The sensation of his hand touching, feather soft, made Draco ache for him all the more. But when he peeled back the robes and took Draco’s dick in his warm, wet mouth, Draco’s mind switched off. 

He knew he was talking and moaning and making a fool of himself, but there was no way to reconnect his logical brain to his mouth. “Fuck, Harry! Oh my god, that feels...holy shit!"

Potter’s mouth tightened around him as he murmured a response, and Draco‘s vocabulary was reduced to guttural groans of pleasure. When he felt himself on the edge of orgasm, he pushed Potter gently away... “wait, wait!”

Reaching down he scooped Potter into his arms and deposited him on his back on the bed. His glasses askew, mouth red, eyes blazing, Potter gave a husky laugh, “what’s the point of being a werewolf if you can’t show off your strength!”

Draco grabbed hold of Potter’s belt, making short work of the buckle and sliding the jeans down over his legs. “Oh my god, Potter, you would not believe how much I’ve wanted to do this...”

And then his mouth was full.

He took his time; figuring out just how to lick and suck and rub, in a way that elicited the most throaty croaks of sound as Potter shook and gasped. He didn’t last long before he was tugging at Draco, “wait, stop! Or I’m gonna...”

Draco felt a thrill of delight, and desire, looking up and catching Harry’s gaze he slowly and purposefully stroking himself as he continued until he was swallowing, and climaxing, and Harry’s moan turned soft, deep and low.

Draco couldn’t help but stare at the half naked and completely beautiful boy on his bed. His hair was messier than ever, curling darkly on Draco’s crisp white pillowcase. As Draco stared, a red blush climbed his cheeks and a shy smile emerged, that melted what was left of Draco’s heart. He was so, totally, completely, head over heels.

He drew close and pressed his their lips together. He was engulfed in the sensations that flooded through him. There was a sense of urgency in his kisses, the fear of all the loss that was to come only increased his desire to be submerged in the experience and forget everything else. 

It was a long time before he drew back. “It will be morning soon... you’ve got to go...”

Potter sighed, “yeah... and I do actually need a wand...”

Draco pulled himself out of bed and crossed to the line of wands on the bench. It seemed like such a long time ago when he had been fussing over their arrangement. He smiled unwilling at his own stupidity. “I’m going to pick these up one at a time, and you can try to disarm me... see how each one feels afterw—“

“Expelliarmus!”

He hadn’t quite finished speaking when the first wand was out of his hand and in Potter’s. He snatched up the next one and sent a mild stinging hex at Harry’s feet before it too sailed across the room. Then the third and the fourth. It wasn’t until they came to the last wand that Draco felt a real change. 

As Harry’s fingers touched the wand, a shower of sparks flew from its tip and it seemed to glow from top the bottom for several seconds, before settling in his hand.

“Huh. It didn’t do that for me.” Draco hesitated for a moment, on the verge of telling Potter whose wand that had been. 

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry said, looking up at him with clear eyes, “it was really selfish of me to slack off on all the Occlumency stuff you taught me. If —if Tom read something in my mind that led to your... your.. dea—... hurt you in any way... I could never forgive myself...”

He stood up, pulling on the clothing that he had shed over the course of the night. “I’m pretty sure that Tom hid a horcrux at Hogwarts... would you mind if I ask for Mitsy’s help to search there too? I don’t want to put her in more danger...”

“Maybe just find a way to give her a choice? Rather than making her feel like it’s an order from my mother or I.” Draco started packing the unwanted wands away. He needed something to do with hands. Harry’s impending departure hung over him like a heavy storm cloud. As his imagination rained down on him, he felt wiry arms sliding around his waist, and Potter’s warm breath on his neck.

“I wish I didn’t have to go...” he whispered.  
Draco didn’t answer but he let himself melt back into Potter’s firm chest, leaving on him for several perfect seconds. Then he felt a featherlight kiss on the down hair of his neck, and Harry was gone.


	18. The Locket

You, took what you wanted and left,  
like locusts  
Everything I gave to you,  
everything that we've been through  
You, bled me dry and then went, like leeches

Sleep with one eye open  
(Because)  
Sleep with one eye open, cunt!  
If I had it my way I’d slit your throat  
With the knife that you left in my back  
All this shame, all this guilt, all this regret, that's me  
I'm inside of you  
And this is your world fucking falling apart  
From the inside out,  
everything will fall apart at your feet

Get on your fucking knees,  
and cry me a fucking river  
Sleep with one eye open

~ Bring Me The Horizon ~ ‘Sleep With One Eye Open'

———

As the months passed, Narcissa was surprised to find herself falling into a comfortable routine. She desperately missed Adri, and worried constantly about Draco, but once she realised that Potter was communicating with him and could give her daily assurances that he was alive, her worries became more bearable.

She longed to walk in her garden, but Mitsy had brought back a collection of house plants in pots that Narcissa was able to water using a jug from the kitchen. The process was relaxing. For Lyn, their confinement was driving her a little bit mad, but she had requested that Mitsy find her a skipping rope and some Muggle novels, and somehow the house elf had managed to procure them. So she spent her days cooking, skipping and reading. 

Each morning, Granger, Potter and Weasley would Disapparate to unknown destinations in their search for something to destroy the locket, and Narcissa deduced; to search for other objects of power and significance to the Dark Lord. So far, Granger had not asked her again, about fiendfyre. Narcissa noticed that whoever was tasked with wearing the locket any given day seemed to be grumpier and more irritable than usual.  
One day, the Weasley boy even abandoned them and went home to his family. This seemed to particularly affect Granger and Lyn. Narcissa was quite sure that Granger believed herself in love with the redheaded boy, but for Lyn, the Weasley boy was the person she felt most comfortable talking with. When Lyn had Mitsy bring up the Tonks’ Muggle television from the main house, Weasley sat with her and watched the programs she chose just as avidly. Much to Granger’s annoyance.

 After Weasley’s small tantrum and sojourn with his family, he returned sheepish but apologetic, and brought along news of the outside world that the others found welcome. One of the new routines became listening to Potterwatch when it was playing on the wireless. Narcissa found it interesting to hear the perspective of those who were in support of the Chosen One rather than the Dark Lord. They were often naive and ridiculous, but very earnest.

 At the end of the first month in Somerset, Narcissa had realised that the Dark Lord’s Task had begun to be fulfilled. She was waking early, every morning, before Granger, to go and vomit in the small bathroom. But she found that after her first cup of tea, and a few dry biscuits, her nausea subsided, and she was able to function fairly normally. 

 “Good morning,” Narcissa said to Granger, at the beginning of February, as she passed her a cup of tea. Their early mornings together had become a habit that Narcissa found strangely soothing. “Did you have any success – in your travels yesterday–”  
 Granger gave a weak smile, “not success, so much as, more questions.”  
 “Par for the course, it seems?” she said.  
 “Yeah. I’m not really sure what to do next, we just don’t have any other leads.”  
 Narcissa walked to her row of plants, enjoying the early sunlight on their windowsill. There were several new leaves curling on her favourite plant.  
 “It’s interesting how slowly plants grow, without magic,” said Narcissa, tipping her clear jug of water and watching the stream of liquid in the golden flecked air of the sunrise. Granger moved to the next window, looked out, and sighed, her arms folded.  
 "The Ministry are still keeping watch on the house.”  
 Narcissa nodded, setting down the little jug, and picking up her tea cup. As she stood silhouetted in the morning light, she turned to find Granger studying her with a frown. 

 She glanced down. Her dressing gown was hanging open and she was wearing the same negligee she had been wearing the day she’d been sent to the Malfoy dungeons, but now, her slightly rounded belly, pushed out the shimmery fabric in a different way.  
 “Are you... oh, Mrs Malfoy...” Granger said, her hand on her mouth.  
 Narcissa tugged her dressing gown to wrap around her more securely, but the damage was done, and there was no use denying it. She stared back at the bushy-haired girl.  
 “Yes,” she said, “I’m pregnant. About six months along.” She sat down in the window seat. “I’m not ready to tell the others yet, Mitsy knows, of course.”  
 “I see. Are you okay? I mean, is there anything you should be eating? Or doing differently? Do you need to see a doctor...or a healer..?.”  
 Narcissa was surprised into a laugh, “I have been pregnant before you know.”

 “I’m sure you were much better looked after then,” she said, sounding strangely anxious. “I’ve never known someone who was pregnant.”  
 “That’s okay,” said Narcissa, she could hear the coldness in her own voice, and it was such a contrast to Grangers warm, caring tones. “It was certainly under happier circumstances when I was pregnant with Draco... but, Hermione, the main reason I am not eager to tell the others, is that every pregnancy I have had since, did not survive this long. The Dark Lord knew this, so in tasking me to bear his Death Eaters another pureblood child he was not only planning for my humiliation at the hands of his wizards, but also my heartbreak.” She rubbed her belly soothingly, “Because no matter who the father is, I already love this child."  
 Granger looked at her with tears in her large brown eyes.  
 “Oh, Narcissa.”

 “I tell you these things, not for sympathy. But to remind you that the Dark Lord enjoys being clever and cruel.” said Narcissa, ignoring Granger’s use of her given name. “You are obviously on a mission to destroy items of significance to Him, but if he finds out, his cruelty will know no bounds.”  
 “Yes. I’ve taken that into account.”  
 “Have you?”  
 Granger did not answer. She seemed to be struggling to hold in whatever words were on the tip of her tongue  
 “Hermione, I need to request –”  
 “Will you destroy the locket if we give you a wand?”  
 “Pardon me?”

 “Instead of trying to teach me, would you be the one to cast the fiendfyre?” said Granger in a rush of words.  
 “Not here,” said Narcissa, and with one finger she twisted a strand of her long blonde hair, “I would need a larger space than this, in which to try and control it.”

———

It was several days before Granger, Weasley and Potter took her with them when the Disapparated. They were standing at the entrance to a dark cave.  
 “This way,” said Potter, “Draco has already put up the protective enchantments.  He’ll be in the main chamber. Now, Mrs Malfoy, the locket needs to be opened before you cast fiendfyre at it, but whatever's in there will put up a fight. It may try to kill you, or the rest of us.”

 “A normal day in the life of Harry Fucking Chosen One Potter, then,” drawled Draco’s voice from behind them.  He was dressed in his formal robes. There was still the gaunt quality in his face that spoke of little sleep and hard work, but something about him had changed. The tall, darkly robed figure who spoke with her son’s voice, had gained an aura of danger that rolled off him like a mist from the sea and filled the entire tunnel with his menacing darkness.  
 “Come on,” said Potter, rolling his eyes at Draco, “hello to you too.  How’s your day going?  It’s so nice how glad you are to see us.”  
 “How are you going to open the locket?” asked Draco, walking alongside Potter, their fingers brushing from time to time, and completely disregarding the sarcasm rich greeting.

 “I'm going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue,” said Potter.  Narcissa watched as the two young men exchanged a glance laden with meaning. 

 Once they were inside a cavernous chamber full of stalactites and stalagmites, Potter instructed them all to stay put while he marched across the long space, and stopped on the other side. He hooked the chain of the locket onto the spike of a stalagmite, and stepped back from it.

 “Here,” said Granger.  “Maybe do a practice spell to see how the wand responds to you.”  
 As Narcissa accepted the wand, she felt the shaky tingle of magic rush up her arm. Tears pricked her eyes. During the four months of wandlessness, she had felt as though she was missing a part of herself. Suddenly she felt whole again. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her wand,or that she had not won it from its master, it felt warm and comfortable in her hand and she knew that it would respond to her magic.

 She stepped forward. “Prestego!” she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between her and the three others behind her; Draco and Granger were forced backward a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Weasley glared at Narcissa from his side of the transparent barrier, as he caught Granger’s arm.  
 “We’d better be able to trust her, Hermione, I'm serious -- this is crazy --”  
 Narcissa ignored him, turning her focus to the opposite side of the cavern, “Are you ready, Potter?”  
 “Ready when you are!” said Potter, backing away from the locket a little.   
 “On three,” said Narcissa, watching as Potter concentrated his attention on the ornate letter ‘S’ on the locket and narrowing his eyes.

 “One . . . two . . . three . . .”

 Potter spoke, and his words came out as the hiss of a snake and the golden doors of the locket swung wide open with a little click.  
 Even from the distance, Narcissa could see behind both of the glass windows within blinked a living eye, dark and handsome.  
 “Cast the spell,” called Potter, backing further away.  
 Narcissa raised the wand, focusing on the frantically swiveling eyes, as the locket began to rattle and twitch as though agitated.  
 Then a voice hissed from inside.  
 “I can see your heart, and it is mine.”  
 “Don't listen to it!” Potter yelled harshly.  “Mrs Malfoy!”

 “I can see your dreams, Narcissa Malfoy, and I can see your fears.  All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible....”

  “Fiendfyre!” shouted Potter, his voice echoing off the far away walls of the cavern, but Narcissa could do nothing but gaze into those hypnotic eyes.  
  “Your heart, cursed, to love those you cannot have . . . Your body, a death trap, for innocent little souls, who don’t even get the chance to draw their first breath. . . Cold hearted, cursed, a destructive force . . .”

“Narcissa, cast the spell!” Granger screamed out from behind the shield. Narcissa watched the locket quivering, its chain shaking against the rock. The eyes began to gleam scarlet.  
  Out of the locket's two windows, out of the eyes, there bloomed two grotesque bubbles, the heads of Adri and Lucius, weirdly distorted.  
   
Narcissa yelled in shock and backed away as the figures blossomed out of the locket, first chests, then waists, then legs, until they stood above the locket, side by side like trees with a common root, swaying in the air larger than life.  
   
“Mother!” Draco bellowed, “don’t listen! Cast the spell!”  
   
The distorted Lucius was now speaking and Narcissa was gazing, mesmerized, into its face. “You were such a disappointing bride, cold and passionless, unable to bear me more than one child.... I would have been better off without you, happier without you, glad of your absence.... You showed me no loyalty--”  
   
“I laughed at your love!” added the warped Adriunna, who was as beautiful but more terrible than the real Adri. She swayed, cackling, before Narcissa, who stood horrified, yet transfixed, the wand hanging pointlessly at her side. “Who could truly love you, so unemotional, detached and austere? I wanted much more than you could ever give. What have you ever done, except water your plants and read your books. You refused to risk ridicule, you refused to acknowledge our relationship. I was better off with my fat, useless husband...”

“Mrs Malfoy, kill it, KILL IT!” Potter yelled, but Narcissa did not move. Her eyes were wide, and the two figures were reflected in them, their hair swirling like flames, their eyes shining red, their voices lifted in an evil duet.  
   
“Your son confessed,” sneered Adriunna, while Lucius jeered, “that he would have preferred to die in the womb, like his brothers and sisters, than have you for a mother...”  
   
“Who wouldn't prefer death, what child could love you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him,” crooned Lucius, “you did nothing to stop his attack, you let yourself be frozen by fear everyday of your life. You deserve every punishment you’ve received...”  
  And the bodies twisted and writhed like snakes changing into a pale and colourless Narcissa, at the mercy of vicious hands and bodies, familiar faces filled with lust and cruelty. Tearing her clothes off, pounding her with their abuse.

  Tears coursed down Narcissa’s cheeks, her hand shook. It was only the awareness that she didn’t want her son to witness these memories, didn’t want him to view her pain, that gave her the strength to lift her arm.

  “Do it! Cast the spell!“ Four voices were shouting in unison.  
   
Breathless with tears Narcissa began to murmur the words of the dark incantation. The tip of her wand began to glow like a coal, burning hot: Potter started running back towards her as a monstrous ball of blazing fire erupted from her wand and began charging across the cavern. As it moved, it mutated, taking on the shape of a thick skinned and burly Erumpet, roiling with curses flames, pouring out a solid wall of heat.  
   
Narcissa held her wand hand steady, directing and stabilising the beast. Black smoke poured from its ears and nostrils, as it crashed into the warped figures still undulating above the locket. Pawing at the air, it lowered its wide, armoured head and stabbed its explosive horn straight into the two eyes staring from the locket.  
   
There was a clang of metal, and a long drawn out scream that blended with the roaring of the fiery beast. The Erumpet snorted and turned its redhot gaze on Narcissa as she began chanting the counter curse to banish the flames. The flames flared brighter, and the creature split into several more, stampeding towards her.  
   
She heard Granger screech in fright, but she kept her hand steady and managed to complete the words of the incantation just as the fire reached her. They winked out suddenly, taking all other lights with them.  
   
Standing in the dark, shaking all over, it was all she could do to whisper, “Finite Incantantem,” and drop the shield behind her, before sinking to her knees and burying her face in her hands. 

Draco lit his wand, stepping closer, but Granger got there first, flinging her arms around Narcissa’s slim shoulders and hugging her tight. Narcissa didn’t resist. She just sat, weeping silently, her face buried in Granger’s bushy hair.  
   
Potter had retrieved the locket, and made his way towards them. The fire had melted away the glass in both windows: the human eyes were gone, and the stained silk lining of the locket was still smoking. The thing that had lived in the locket had vanished; torturing Narcissa had been its final act. “Fuck, that was messed up, Potter... how many of these fucking things have you got to find?!” asked Draco.  
   
Potter held out the shattered remains of the locket, and Granger released Narcissa so that she could look up. “Here. Maybe you could take this to show Kreacher. What Regulus set out to do has been achieved.”  
   
“What was... what was that in the locket?” asked Narcissa, her voice still as clear and cold as ever, despite her red rimmed eyes and the splotchiness of her pale face.  
   
“I’m not supposed to explain the full story,” said Potter. “But it was very, very important that what lived in that locket be killed.”  
   
“That makes me feel so much better,” Narcissa returned, with crisp sarcasm. She shifted out of Granger’s grasp and accepted Draco’s cautious hand, ready to help her to her feet.  
   
“May I keep the wand?” she asked. “It seems to respond well to my magic.”  
   
“Yes.” Granger and Potter spoke simultaneously. The word seemed to echo around the cavern several times but then they realised there were voices in one of the tunnels. “Go! There are people coming. We can’t be seen here, together. Everybody go!”  
 


	19. Hufflepuff’s Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bold is Harry**  
>  _Italics is Draco_  
>  ———

Come on, come on, there has to be a better way.  
Get up, get up, let's leave this mess.  
I know a place that we can get away from all of this.

Come on come on, get up, get up  
No, we can't leave 'til you tell me everything.  
So come clean, don't talk in tongues.  
It's time to bring out your dead.  
And all the skeletons that you've been hiding.  
Tell me everything I need to know.  
Bring out your dead, bring out your dead

I couldn't see a thing 'til I shut my eyes.  
I never knew a thing 'til I lost my mind.  
I would sell my soul to know it all,  
But I held the keys all this time

I've been dreaming of us leaving everything and everyone we've ever known  
I've been thinking all these visions must be a sign, so hold on and don't let go

Bring out your dead

~ Bring Me The Horizon ~ ‘Visions’

———

It was nearly Easter. Narcissa had only seen Draco once, when she had destroyed what lived in the locket. The baby continued to grow and she had begun to feel the flutters and movements. Nebulous hope was solidifying within her with each week that went by, and she celebrated reaching the seven month mark of her pregnancy by eating one of Lyn’s special chocolates with her cup of tea in the morning. Her stomach was like a round basketball protruding from her slim frame.

The Golden Trio had kept her awake with their arguments last night; the result of which was that Weasley and Potter left for Hogwarts with Mitsy at daybreak, while Granger stomped around the attic Safe Room with anger and fear galloping across her face. Lyn slumped into one of the couches and began to rewatch all the most romantic dvds in their collection. This habit irritated Hermione to no end and she bad temperedly erected a sound proof shield between the half of the attic holding the television, and the rest of the room.

“She’s watched those a hundred times! Why?? They haven’t become any less ridiculous!”

Narcissa eyed her evenly over her tea cup, “and you’ve read the Tales of Beedle the Bard about that many times, has it become any less obscure?”

Granger just glared at her. Thick brown brows drawn down dramatically; mouth in a discontented line. “No! Nothing makes any sense and we have NO leads to go on. Ron and Harry are going into danger, for nothing!”  
 “No leads?” Narcissa said calmly, her dispassionate tone the same as ever; emotionless and cold.

 “No, nothing,” said Granger, looking less angry and more concerned. “I should have gone with them...”  
 “And what purpose would that serve?”  
 “What?  Well, I might have been able to keep them safe! They’re sure to get spotted, by a painting, or a house elf! Snape probably knows already that they’re there!”  
 “So, what are you going to do? Stress all day?”

 “No.  I’ll go crazy.  Will you help me?” she said.  
Narcissa raised one eyebrow, “how exactly?”  
 “We need some new ideas... is there anywhere you can think of that You Know Who would hide something really important to him. Nearly sacred. It would need to be well protected... basically impossible to get to...”

 In actual fact, Narcissa had been thinking about this question ever since their encounter with the locket. She had come up with and discarded more than a dozen ideas, but there was one that had stayed in her mind, and she voiced it now.  
 “Well, I have a story to tell -- I’d be happy to give you the memory, if it would help.  It was --”  She cleared her throat, which suddenly seemed thick.  “It was soon after Lucius’ death.  The Dark Lord had set his... —task for me... and my sister was not impressed. Mind you, she waited until all the wizards had visited my room before she came in to express her displeasure.”  
 Granger was staring at her, her expression torn, curiosity and compassion clearly warring on her face. She didn’t speak.  She just waited.  Eyes wide and warm.

 Narcissa looked down at her hands.  She was surprised to realise that she wanted to finish the story, she wanted to know if it was a moment of significance.  
 “So, Bella came in,” she said, taking a sip of her drink, holding the saucer in a suddenly shaky hand.  “I had used several calming and numbing potions, several hours earlier, and I was still fairly... sedated...”  
 “Were you lucid?” asked Hermione.  “I’ve never used those potions... how long do the effects last?”  
 Narcissa found her lips twitching, the smallest smile parting them.  
 “Hermione” she said, “you shock me! How have you made it to eighteen years of age, without misusing potions?”

 There was a sudden, resounding crack in the attic. The force of Mitsy’s Apparition brought down the shield Hermione had raised, and the sounds of the romantic comedy were blended with the shouts of surprise as Mitsy deposited the Lovegood girl, a teenage boy, a Goblin and an emaciated Ollivander on the floor.

 The Goblin sounded as though he was cursing, but in the rough and unmelodious language, it was hard to know for sure, he could have been saying anything that used a string of rattling, guttural noises.  
“Mistress Narcissa,” Mitsy said, the tiniest quiver of weariness in her voice, “Harry Potter asked Mitsy to check the dungeons at Malfoy Manor, Misty only strong enough to get four....”  
“But what did Potter – ?”

An airy giggle hindered that line of questioning: Lovegood was looking at the television screen. “That man is quite funny, isn’t he?”  
“Feel free to go and watch it, Miss Lovegood,” Narcissa said tartly, “Lyn would like company who share her sense of humour. She’s out of sorts without the Weasley boy.”  
“Dean, you were captured?” Granger asked.  
The other teenager nodded “Some Snatchers got us. We were meant to get taken to the ministry one of the guys with us looked a bit like Harry, so they took us straight to some Death Eaters... a couple of the Snatchers, and our mate are all dead now... we’re lucky they just chucked us in with Luna.”  
“Mr. Ollivander,” Narcissa’s inner hostess took over, though she was wondering how safe this Safe Room could really be with even more people hiding in it. “Please, let me help you into a comfortable chair, and would you like a cup of tea – or coffee– or some breakfast?”  
“All of the above sound wonderful,” said Ollivander, stiffly. “Thank-you.”

It wasn’t until much later that the newest residents of the Safe Room were settled, fed and occupied either sleeping or watching television with Lyn. Narcissa had sent Mitsy back to bed when she noticed how worn out she was from the morning activities. And feeling weary herself she retreated behind her own curtains and lay down.

 “Mrs Malfoy? —Narcissa?” Granger was slipping through the curtain to join her. “Are you having a sleep? Or could you finish telling me the story that you started earlier?”  
“I’m awake,” said Narcissa, redundantly. “A bit tired though...do you mind if I keep lying down?”  
“Of-course not!” said Granger, and she lay down on her side of the bed, curled into her pillow, facing Narcissa. “Muffliato!”

It was strange to be lying face of face and awake. Even though they had shared a bed for months, they never looked at one another once they were in bed, rarely spoke there, and certainly never touched.  
 “The story isn’t that dramatic, and I can’t promise that it wasn’t some kind of potion induced hallucination... but, Bella came into my room that night, ranting at me and Lucius and Draco for failing the Dark Lord. She seemed more insane than usual, and more obviously in love with Him. I had no energy to contradict any of her accusations. She talked at me for a long time, and eventually I got into bed. I was drifting off to sleep. My sister knelt down next to the bed and started stroking my hair. Her eyes were wild...”

“She’s terrifying.” said Granger quietly.  
 “Yes, you’ve met her haven’t you?” said Narcissa. ”She was past the point of terrifying then. She was —it was like she— there was a fanatical gleam in her eyes...and as I started falling asleep she whispered to me that at least she had the Dark Lord’s trust. That he trusted her so much he gave her a historic artefact of his to keep in her safe at Gringotts... she whispered that it was the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff herself..."  
“Merlin’s pants!” said Granger, sitting bolt upright.  
“She thought I was asleep... I think she was just talking to herself, reassuring herself of her value to the Dark Lord... and when I woke up, I thought I might have dreamed it.”  
 “I don’t think you did.” said Granger. “It makes perfect sense. I can’t believe it... but I’m almost certain that it must be true..."

———

**Is every person I care about... everyone who helps me...destined to die?**

_Potter... what’s happened? You went to Hogwarts didn’t you..._

**At least I dug his grave myself. Near where I buried Moody’s eye... we’re camping for a bit...**

_What happened to the Safe Room? Is everyone okay?_

**Mitsy rescued Luna, Dean, Ollivander and Griphook from the manor. The Safe Room was a bit crowded...**

_Who died?_

**Dobby. He helped us escape when the Carrows found us... after we found the horcrux... and Ron’s deluminator led us to the Sword of Gryffindor...**

_As eventful a trip as usual then? Just a stroll into Hogwarts..._

**We know where another one is... but we might need your help...**

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I have a feeling it’s not going to be a stroll in the Park either..._

**We need Bellatrix’ wand... and some of her hair...**

_Holy shit... are you seriously that insane? You might be feeling suicidal but I’m not..._

**Why do you think I asked — if every person I care about... everyone who helps me...destined to die?**

_I thought that was fucking rhetorical!! I didn’t realise you were planning the manner of my fucking death..._

**I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can do. We need this if we’re going to kill Tom...**

_Oh! Of course! First my crazy powerful Aunt, and then WE can move on to the Dark Fucking Lord!! Potter, you are certifiable! That can NOT be your actual plan..._

**I haven’t got as far as a plan for Tom... just the next horcrux. But, yeah, it will have to be me that kills him...**

_Oh my god! You have the biggest fucking hero complex in the history of wizardkind!! And possibly —humanity!! Fuck!_

**So... will you help?**

_What is your time frame?_

**It’ll take a few weeks to get ready on our end... maybe two weeks...**

_Long enough for me to write a will and testament hey? And train up my replacement?_

**...please don’t die, Draco...**

_It’s okay, you’ve got Girl Weasley waiting for you with soft kisses..._

**Do you really think that?**

_No I don’t! I’m not an eternal optimist like you! But if anyone has a romantic happily ever after it’ll be you!_

**That’s not what I meant...**

_???_

**I meant: do you really think that I still just want Ginny? That if I survive the war I’ll go off with her?**

_It’s fairly obvious, Potter._

There was an extended pause... 

**If I survive the war, I plan to spend a lot of time convincing you that we can be together... If there’s an ‘after’, I want it to be with you**

Draco sat staring at the message until it was imprinted, burnt into his mind. How on earth was he meant to reply to something like that? He could nearly hear the earnest, sincerity rasping through. It begged for a sincere reply. Not mockery. But mockery was all Draco was comfortable with. The longer he waited, the more important those words seemed, he needed to end the conversation. 

_Just try to survive the war..._


	20. Call to Arms

This is a Call to arms,  
So grab your guns and get your horses  
Only the dead have seen the end of this fight.  
This is a Call to arms,  
So all you fallen soldiers sing with me,  
Death or Glory

So march with me if you believe there's any hope for us.  
I've been hiding in these trenches for far too long.  
All is fair in war or so they tell me  
All is fair in war or so they say

So march with me if you believe there's any hope for us.  
I've been hiding in these trenches for far too long.  
All is fair in war or so they tell me  
All is fair in war or so they say  
Come on come on, get up, get up

~ Bring Me The Horizon ~ ‘Visions’

———   

 “Do you think they’re ready, Derve?” Draco asked quietly; leaning on the fence outside the cottage, watching the children in the training yard. 

  “How many years have we got?” said Derve, drily. “‘Cause we’ll need years if we want these guys to fight in a war. “  
 “I think that really soon we’re not going to have a choice, Derve –“  
 “The adults are more prepared... our afternoon sessions are going well, they’re stronger, and learning the techniques really quickly. Practicing in teams has helped, one wizard or witch per ten people, focused on casting shield charms over each werewolf as they fight.”

 “Good,” said Draco, “That’s not been…. well, easy to manage has it? I’m glad they’re improving...”  
 “In a battle it will be even harder.” said Derve, the tattoos on his face in shadow, as he turned to observe the children again. “Are we still sticking to the original plan?”

 “Yes. If the fighting comes to them, the kids defend themselves from the cottage. We can only leave one wizard with them though, and it will probably be Wullins — he is the least powerful, we need everyone else with the Pack.”

 “And how will we know who we’re fighting?” asked Derve. “It gets messy in a fight when you don’t know who your enemy is. I’ve been in enough street fights... if it wasn’t for distinctive marks — like shaved heads or bandannas —I would’ve ended up fighting for the wrong side.”  
 “When the time comes, just follow my lead. You’ll know who the enemies are. But the Pack will need to follow my command, not any others... I can’t explain any more than that yet.”  
 “Well, Posh Boy, you’re the one who’s given everyone a home– “

 “I’ve not given much...”

 Derve turned back to face him, eyes serious and steady.  
 “That’s not true,” said Derve. “You gave them respect, and a sense of justice. You told them they have a purpose if they work together and learn new skills. You made sure everyone has their own bed, food, books to read, basic amenities. Greyback did nothing like that.” He pointed towards the group of children, paired off and wrestling or circling one another with practice daggers. “You’ve won their loyalty. Not just the kids, but the adults too; Miserere and Wullins aren’t the only ones who would fight to the death for you now.”  
 Draco swallowed and looked away, “I hope they don’t have to... but I think the war is going to come to us anyway... we may as well give ourselves the best chance we have.”

      Standing under the Ashleaf Maple, late that afternoon, Draco looked around. There was significantly more bustle on this side of the acreage, than on the cottage side, though less childish shrieking. Apart from the palatial tent they had begun with there were now three others. One was a solid square looking tent, made to look like a miniature stone castle. The second was designed to resemble a Muggle style campervan, but inside it had more than ten bedrooms. And the last one was a plain brown canvas triangle.

      There were people scurrying everywhere. Combat practice was over but there were many other tasks to be accomplished. Draco felt a strange surge of affection for this little community of werewolves, despite all of the daily dramas they brought into his life. 

      Yet life as they had come to know it, since Greyback’s death, was about to change. The action plan that he had been preparing for these last few months, was suddenly in effect. 

      “The time has come!” said Draco to his Pack, once they had gathered at the foot of the tree. “Stay in your groups. Wizards and witches... the Pack comes first, before all other allegiances, shield your non-magical brothers and sisters!”  
 There were murmurs and growls of agreement. Miserere raised his fist, and others followed his lead, snarling and punching the air. 

 “Until now, I haven’t talked about who our enemy is. Who it is we will be fighting. But the time has come... We fight everyone who worked together with Fenrir Greyback. Those who carved us up, bled us, and laughed at our suffering! We’ve been their play toys. But I say — Enough!”

 “ENOUGH!” The Pack roared back. 

 “A change is coming! A new world for tomorrow! We aren’t going to hide away, we want to fight for that change.”

 As they drew in close and Derve explained the plan, Draco shed his robes, leaving a black sleeveless leather shirt that Miserere had made for him, and black denim jeans Derve had procured. He wore nothing else but the markings of his journey carved blackly into his skin —one of the Pack.

 Marching up towards the Manor alone, he held his shaved head high, his heart thrumming in his chest. It wasn’t long until he was standing in the ballroom. The smell of blood and fear filling his nostrils. His right hand clenched around his wand, hanging down by his side. There was a sick feeling in his chest, it was tight with disgust and despair, and an anxious itching that told of violence to come.

 Every inch of him was alert, he could pinpoint the individual scents in the room, there were three important ones. Wormtail standing near the door, Yaxley taking pleasure in cursing a hapless Muggle whom he had brought with him for some reason, Bellatrix near the centre of the group.

 The gathering had been the first time he had been summoned to the Manor that month, but there seemed to be little reason for it, apart from the three Death Eaters, there were only low level witches and wizards there.

 “The Dark Lord... when he returns... he will expect results!” Bellatrix called to the watchers. “You have each been given your tasks, stop putting other things first, and do them!” Watching the fanatical gleam in her dark eyes, and the way she disposed of the bloodied body on the floor solidified his resolve. Draco knew he was no match for his Aunt magically. If it came down to a duel, there was no chance that he could best her.

 But the days of feigning interest in things that she said were over. His glare had caught her attention, it wasn’t long before she pointed a sharp finger towards him.  
 “Draco, what have you got to show for yourself?” she said, walking across the ballroom in his direction. "I barely ever see you these days, and we still don’t know if the Dark Lord will forgive you for killing Greyback.”

A nervous muttering reverberated around him. Anything that he did was a risk. Draco inhaled, taking in the smell of the room’s current occupants, the faint residue of its previous inhabitants, and the slightest shifting in the air as more scents entered, covered only by disillusionment spells. Draco loosened his grip on his wand, and gently pocketed it. He held up his hands, palms out, the universal signal for appeasement.

 “I did have a question for you...”  
As the new, and yet familiar scents spread throughout the ballroom, Draco approached his Aunt, leaving his wand in its pocket. He stepped in close, crouched and pulled out his dagger. 

It was a strange thing, attacking from up close. Wizards and witches tended to back away when they were about to cast a spell on someone else. It wasn’t a necessary manoeuvre, but it was instinctive when dueling, to draw away rather than near. In three quick moves Draco had immobilised his Aunt. With shaking hands he sliced the dagger in a fatal motion. 

In the ensuing chaos, he took the wand out of her hand, sliced off a lock of her hair, and vanished her blood. Then proceeded to vomit violently into a vase he had Summoned.

It didn’t matter how many times he put his training into practice, each time was sickening, and to spill the blood of his own family cut deeper than any knife. But he knew: Bella had been the biggest threat to Potter other than the Dark Lord, and there was no way he could have caught her out, disabled her or contained her by magic.

By the time he looked up, the room was still. The disillusionment spells were fading, revealing a werewolf with a bloody dagger standing over every body in the room. Draco vanished the contents of the vase. “Any injuries?”

“Sybella has a chunk out of her arm, Bregard was under some kind of torture curse for a few minutes, Kent got a black eye... but other than that we’re all good...” Miserere spoke up from where he stood over Wormtail’s lifeless body. 

Draco looked across to where Yaxley lay, bleeding from multiple wounds, eyes glassy. He swallowed down bile and refocused his gaze on Derve who stood beside the hulking body. “Okay. I don’t know how long we have before someone comes looking for these guys. I need the Five of you on broomsticks to start ferrying people back to Camp. The remaining witches and wizards, help me levitate all these bodies into a circle —here. Then vanish the blood. I’m going to see how much I remember from sixth year human transfiguration...”

The solemn silence ended abruptly as everyone bustled to do his bidding. Bellatrix’s body slowly transformed into the centre of a soft, round rug, in hues of brown, gray and black. Draco blinked back his tears. “I’m sorry Aunt Bella... but you were never going to stop being a fucking insane, murderous bitch...”

———

_Potter. I‘ve got what you need._

**You did it? I’ve been worrying all morning! How did you do it?**

_I’d rather not talk about it, yet. But you’ll need to act quickly. Before anyone realises that she’s missing. The wand and hair are on my potions table._

**I’ll come get it now... will you be there?**

_I’m training the Pack. I have a feeling it won’t be long until they have to fight for real..._

**Draco, I...**

__Spit it out, Potter_ _

__

**I...I... I’ll let you know how we go...**

__

_I would rather not know what crazy mission you’re embarking on... I’ll see you on the other side..._

__

__

———

  The water poured down in a steady stream over Narcissa’s aching back. She had been having occasional pains and tightenings in her belly, though it was a month too early for the baby’s arrival. She leaned her arms on the glass wall of the shower cubicle, panting and shuddering, as a pain hit her again. Then it was gone, and she slowly towelled herself dry. Observing herself in the mirror, she took in the pale skin, fuller breasts than usual, long legs, slender arms, and the distended belly crisscrossed with stretch marks and angry red lines from overextension. 

  As she ran her critical eyes over her naked body, the baby wriggled and she saw the clear imprint of a tiny foot pressing her skin outward. Her heart stilled for an infinitesimal moment. The love she had for this new life flooded up through her limbs. Suddenly the decision seemed easy.

  Her baby needed more than just protection: her mother hiding in the trenches while others fought the war. Narcissa needed to have hope for both of them. She couldn’t bring this child into a world where the Dark Lord ruled in his cruelty. What if her child were a Squib? Narcissa would still love him as fiercely as Adri had loved her daughter Lyn. . 

  If she wanted to see the Dark Lord defeated, she needed to put her own life on the line, just like Draco was doing, just like the Golden Trio were doing. She emerged from the bathroom into the quiet attic. She missed Lyn’s constant chatter. The teenager had chosen to move out to another location in Granger’s tent when the group in the Safe Room split in two. The Golden Trio seemed to split their time between the two locations, but so far Granger had always come back to the attic to sleep. . 

  Until that night. Fresh from her shower and dressed in a soft stretchy nightgown, Narcissa sat on the bed feeling anxious. It was late. What if she had made her decision to fight alongside Potter, just a day too late? What if they had encountered unassailable opposition on their mission that day? The baby seemed to sense her anxiety and was increasingly restless.

   As soon as she heard the noise of Apparition, she flung open the curtains.  
  “What happened to you three?” she asked.  
   “Only just... escaped... a horde of angry ...goblins,” said Granger, sodden, coughing and exhausted.  
  The three of them had angry red burns all over their faces and arms, and their clothing was singed away in places.  
   “Accio Dittany!”  
   Narcissa commenced dabbing essence of dittany onto Granger’s many  injuries. She then handed the bottle to Potter, then Summoned three bottles of pumpkin juice from the kitchen and clean, dry robes for all of them from in Granger’s beaded bag. They changed and then gulped down the juice.   
   “Well, on the upside,” said Weasley finally, who was sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow, “we got the cup. On the downside-”  
  “-- no sword,” said Potter through gritted teeth, as he dripped dittany  through the singed hole in his jeans onto the angry burn beneath.    
  “No sword,” repeated Weasley. “That double-crossing little scab...”      
   Narcissa’s heart sank. “So it’ll have to be fiendfyre again?”  
   Potter pulled the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had just  taken off and set it down on the polished floor boards. Glinting in the lamplight, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice.   
   “At least we can't wear it this time, that'd look a bit weird hanging  around our necks,” said Weasley, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.  “We’ve got bigger things to worry about though.”   
   “What do you mean?” asked Granger.  
  “Well I don't know how to break this to you,” said Ron, “but I think  they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts.”    
  The three of them started to laugh, and once started, it was difficult to stop. Narcissa went to prepare them some food as they, lay back on the couches and laughed until their throats were raw.    
  “What are you going to do now?” said Narcissa, when they had finally worn out their hysterical laughter.  
   Suddenly, Potter clutched at his head, falling forward off the couch he writhed on the ground.  
  “What’s happening to him?” Narcissa demanded.

   Granger was tense; her face sober. “It’s a vision. He’s seeing what You Know Who is doing...”  
  Narcissa summoned the plates briskly, and they settled on the table with a clatter.

  “He knows.” Potter’s voice sounded weary. “He knows and he's going to check where the others are, but we’ve got them all,” he was already on his feet,“ except Nagini.”    

   “What?”  Weasley was gaping at him; Granger paced between the table and the couches, looking worried.  

      “But what did you see? How do you know?”      
   “I saw him find out that Snape had kept it secret, that we went to Hogwarts and found the diadem, I - I was in his head, he's” - Potter was looking sick - “he's furious. Snape’s dead. You Know Who is scared too, he can't understand how we knew, and now he's going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He’s going looking for Bellatrix so he can check on the cup -” 

       “Well,” said Narcissa, “you must eat something. Keep up your strength for what happens next.”  
   She flicked the wand to send the chairs skidding out from the table, “come on, now, sit down!”  
   Potter was the first to come and sit in the chair, still rubbing his forehead. “Hogwarts has been closed, until the funeral for Snape... “

   Weasley had joined him and begun shovelling food into his mouth. All of a sudden he stopped.  
   “Maybe we don’t need to use fiendfyre then...”  
   “What do you mean, Ron?”  
   “Well...” he took another bite. “If the school’s shut, then it won’t be hard to get into... and we could go into the Chamber of Secrets and get the rest of the Basilisk fangs...”

   Granger was looking at him awestruck. “That’s brilliant, Ron! I would never have thought of it!”  
   “Genius!” exclaimed Potter.  
   “It took me long enough to think of it.” Weasley shrugged, but he was looking intensely pleased with himself. But then, Potter gasped again. Grasping his forehead.  
   “He’s going to the Manor, he’s gathering all the Death Eaters...” he said.  
 Granger ignored her food but stepped nearer, and his eyes flitted over them all.  Her face was set. Determined.  
 “I think this is it,” said Granger, “We have to destroy the cup, and then go after You-Know-Who.”  
 “Really?” said Weasley, turning white.  “Did you not hear Harry say ‘gathering all the Death Eaters’!?”  
 Potter was staring up at Granger, a multitude of emotions tripping across his face.  
 “You’re right, Hermione,” said Potter.  “It needs to be tonight.”  
 Weasley threw up his hands in disgust. “Right! So we’re going to march into the Manor and have a duel with one of the most evil and powerful wizards of all time? No, that sounds sensible! Why didn’t I think of it??”  
 The other two appeared not to have heard him. Granger began brainstorming rapidly, ways to take the Dark Lord by surprise. Narcissa found herself giving a big sigh.  
 “You can’t go without back up,” she said, “Call on your allies”  
 “Yes. That’s good. We should do that,” said Granger.  “We need to contact the Order, and the DA...”  
 Potter was already removing his Galleon from his pocket.  
 “And the werewolves...” he said.  
 Granger looked uncertain.  Her eyes were wide in her heart shaped face, still healing burns stretching her skin in places.  
   “If you think we can trust them.... this really is our best chance, Harry! If we can get the basilisk fangs, and then get into Malfoy Manor...”

 “I can help with that,” said Narcissa, “you can include me in your list of allies.”  
 “Really?” said Weasley, looking skeptical.  “And what would stop you switching sides once we’re there?”  
 Narcissa made an involuntary movement to protect her belly, where the baby was wedging a foot under her ribs.  
 “I think we can trust her, Ron,” said Granger.  “As much as we can trust anyone. She needs You Know Who dead if she is going to be free too...”  
 “As far as a way into Malfoy Manor is concerned...I can help you there as well.” She began to relay the idea that had been percolating in her mind since she had decided to join the fight.


	21. Try To Survive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the inspirations for this fic was this picture of Oliver Sykes from Bring Me The Horizon...
> 
>  

Give me love over life, the sweet soft of ground  
Let us in. Let us in now  
Bye, bye world, or will our hope still hold on?  
Boy, you're never going see  
The things that will come of these (days)

Raise your hands high!  
Young brothers and sisters  
There's a world's worth of work and a need for you  
Oh, a change is coming, feel these doors now closing in  
Is there no world for tomorrow, if we wait for today?

So march to the drumming, show them you're coming  
You've been their play toy.  
Cut to the carving  
Bleed them 'til robbing  
Enough! They'll take no more

In the light we'll sing, as all hurt must bring  
In the falling cusp of all broken things  
In the coming dusk, you will call on us and unite we must  
I'm the Crowing!  
You all think you've figured me out. Do as I say!  
Your words mean nothing at all, so now I lay

~ Coheed and Cambria ~ ‘No World for Tomorrow’

——— 

      As Mistress of Malfoy Manor, despite her ‘banishment’, she was tied to the magic of the place in a way that none but pureblood wizards could understand. As she walked towards the front gate, there was an explosion of light and sound from the direction of the Manor: in her minds eye she could see through the hedges and fences to the majestic entryway where there was now a huge bonfire blazing in the centre of the front lawn. Death Eaters in their dark robes and masks were gathering around it, coming from inside the Manor, or walking up the path from the gate where she now stood.  
       Her voice, amplified by a Sonorous charm, sounded unfamiliar to her as it echoed from outside the pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of the long drive into the estate.  
       “My Lord! I have returned with a gift...”

 The dramatic entry wasn’t necessary, she could simply put her hand to the gate and have it open at the touch of her skin, but she waited. Eventually the iron contorted, twisting itself out of its usual abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice. “State your purpose!”

 “I, Narcissa Malfoy, carry in my womb a pureblood child... and I bring you, also, Harry Potter.”

 The gates swung open.

 The hedges suddenly went up in flames all along the path, and her tall, heavily pregnant body was silhouetted against them, along with the limp body of the young man floating in front of her.  
   
 A swarm of dementors was gliding above the Manor roof; she could already feel their chill, but seemed they were holding themselves back from feeding on the people gathering below. She soon caught up to the two people who had been ahead of her, and approached the front lawn with their presence alongside her.

 “Well, hello there, Narcissa,” came a rough whisper close at hand. “You’ve come back. About to pop too... have you figured out who the father is yet --- ?”  
 Glancing over at them in the flickering fire light, Narcissa saw Rookwood and Dolohov peering at her hopefully.  
 “Welcome back, Lady Malfoy,” said Rookwood. “You miss us, did ya?”

       He fell silent when the Dark Lord flew out of one of the top story windows, and floated down, like a dementor, to land in front of them. Behind his head, swirling and coiling, the great snake Nagini floated in a glittering, charmed cage. His red eyes were fixed on Narcissa’s belly and his white hands were folded over a new wand, of pale wood with a caramel stripe through it. 

     Narcissa scanned the crowd of watchful Death Eaters. Some of them were masked and hooded; others showed their faces. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, casting massive shadows over the scene, their faces cruel, rough-hewn like rock. Every eye was fixed upon her, the Dark Lord and Potter’s floating body.

 “You say you have brought me two gifts,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, the sound of it sending shivers of terror down Narcissa’s spine. He waved the wand to flick back a thatch of unruly dark hair from Potter’s forehead. “And it seems to be true.”  
 Nobody spoke. They seemed as scared as Narcissa, whose heart was now throwing itself against her ribs as though determined to escape. Her hands were sweating as she clung to her Occlumency shields and kept her eyes downcast.

 “Yet, I have recently been . . . mistaken, regarding the loyalties of one I had trusted,” the Dark Lord continued. “Severus Snape, all this time was hiding his passionate devotion to this boy’s mudblood mother. He worked against me. He even gave them the true sword of Gryffindor, and your sister, a mere copy. How do I know you will not do the same?”  
 Narcissa looked up.  
 “My main concern is for my child, my Lord,” she said, pouring her sincerity into her words.  
 The Dark Lord’s expression did not change. The red eyes seemed to burn in the firelight. Slowly he drew the caramel striped wand between his long fingers.

 “And, where is your sister? Have you no ideas as to where she might have gone?”  
 This wasn’t difficult to answer honestly, “I didn’t realise she was missing... my Lord...” She couldn’t help looking around at the gathered group. “I know she would never leave your side, of her own volition . . .“

 “That is true also. Come, then, my dear. You have brought me the one I have waited to kill. Wake him. And let us see if he is the true Harry Potter...”

        With shaking hands Narcissa released the spell holding Potter immobilised, he fell on the ground and then clambered to his feet. There was an immediate roar of sound. The giants stood and stomped their feet, the Death Eaters drew their wands, shouting out derisive statements. Lord Voldemort had frozen where he stood; his red eyes fixed on Potter. He tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.  
 “Harry Potter,” he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. “The Boy Who Lived.”

 Everyone fell silent once again. No-one moved. Narcissa waited for Potter to disappear under the Invisibility Cloak, or pull out his wand and attack. Instead he just stood there, his hand in his pocket, and as the Dark Lord raised his wand he drew out a tiny golden snitch, and kissed it as if in goodbye —  
 “Avada Kedavra!”  
 There was a flash of green light. Then three things happened simultaneously. Potter fell, facedown on the ground, dead. Draco came running out of the woods, looking like a creature from the underworld, all black leather and inked skin, screaming: “NOOOOO!”

     And at the same moment, the Dark Lord stumbled into Dolohov; who caught him, and lowered him gently to the ground as he collapsed.

Narcissa turned and began to run as fast as her unwieldy body could carry her. Back to the gate. She couldn’t wait to see the results of Potter’s death and the Dark Lord’s fainting... when she reached the gate she laid her hands on it and it swung open before her. A crowd of people surged forward, some on foot, some on broomsticks, some on Thestrals. Moving into the grounds through the doorway in the protective enchantments that Narcissa was holding open. 

Granger came last, letting Weasley run on ahead; the fang of a basilisk in one hand. “We’ve destroyed the Cup.” She whispered. “What happened to Harry?”  
“I’m... I’m sorry... Hermione... I think he’s dead... He didn’t even draw his wand, he just... just kissed a snitch! And then took the Dark Lord’s killing curse!”

Granger’s eyes seemed to glaze over... “Oh... oh... I see...”

Before Narcissa could demand an explanation, a pain hit her deep an low, and there was a rush of water between her legs. She sucked in her breath and clutched at the iron of the gate. Granger’s eyes became very focused all at once.  
“Narcissa—?”  
“Give — ahh— me a — ahh — minute, Granger!’ Narcissa puffed out between clenched teeth.

     Granger’s hands began to flutter nervously. “Okay! Oh my god! What do we do? Merlin’s pants! This is too early isn’t it??”  
“Just — need — MITSY!!”

———

  A volcanic rage was pouring through him. Draco had never felt his heart so cold and yet his fury burning hot. He barely knew what he was screaming. He only knew that Harry was dead. It no longer mattered to him if he survived the night, it no longer mattered if he was on the winning side. He felt the savagery of his werewolf side overtake him, and the only thing that mattered was avenging Harry’s death. Sympathy and disgust were squashed under the anger that raged.

      “KILL THEM ALL!” he roared.

      The Pack had surged forward around him and the air was filled with flashes of green light, slashing silver daggers and spurts of blood. The first group of Death Eaters were not prepared for their manner of attack. They fell to the daggers. Spells bounced fruitlessly off the shields that the flying werewolves maintained. But by the time they reached the cluster of witches and wizards around the Dark Lord, the Death Eater’s protective shields were raised. The werewolves prowled up and down the edges of these enchantments; spattered in blood, teeth bared.

      Draco, sniffing the air, realised abruptly that Harry’s scent was suddenly as warm and strong as ever. Broom polish, mahogany, almond essence, crushed leaves, and a new scent like peppermint or spearmint. The scent of life. Draco froze. His gaze became fixed on Harry’s prone body. He could hear the rustling and quiet voices breaking the silence as Lord Voldemort regained consciousness. Draco cast spell after spell at the protective shields but nothing seemed to weaken them.

      “I do not require assistance,” the Dark Lord was saying coldly. He rose to his feet and waved his wand towards Nagini. “The boy . . . Is he dead?”  
 Freed from her enchanted bubble, the massive snake came to rest on the Dark Lord’s shoulders, and her proximity seemed to give him strength. He stood straight and tall, staring at Harry’s body. There was a complete silence on the lawn. Draco felt his heart in his mouth; he listened carefully. Like everyone in the garden, his gaze was concentrated on the dark head, splayed arms and legs.  
 Into the silence there came a sound like a great wind; and between the lines of burning hedges a massive crowd of people were approaching. Potter’s back-up had arrived: the Order of the Phoenix, the Hogwarts Professors, and —it looked like— all of Dumbledore’s Army and their extended families — only a little too late, Draco thought bitterly. As they came close Draco watched his next curse sail through empty air: the protective shields had faltered. 

    “Attack! ATTACK!” Draco shouted.

   There were twelve Death Eaters between Draco and the Dark Lord. Two knelt at his side, bent over him. Four more were running forward to meet the new arrivals, brandishing their wands. Draco moved rapidly into the midst of the remaining men before they could curse him. His body was acting without conscious thought.

His wand was stowed in his pocket, and he withdrew a second dagger from a sheath on his left wrist. With that he struck the nearest Death Eater in the throat; with the other he spun around, catching another in his eye, so that he stumbled forward clutching his head and screaming. Draco could hear Miserere’s blood-curdling battle cry from not far away, as he swung his sharpened axe and decapitated a masked man.

 Chaos reined. The giants’ stamping feet caused the ground to rumble, and he saw a werewolf fall from a blow to the head. Jinxes and curses flew through the air like streaks of flame. An Imperious curse landed on Draco, making him lose control of his body for a moment. Derve came upon his attacker and punched him in the face, finishing him off with a stab of his knife, and releasing Draco from his control.

 “Thanks!” Draco shouted. “Help me get to the snake —THE SNAKE!”  
 As they charged through the dueling crowds, great winged creatures soared over their heads, along with witches and wizards on their broomsticks. A giant was downed by a group of witches riding thestrals, and a hippogriff scratched at the eyes of another. 

    They were only two people away from the Dark Lord when the magical shield protecting Derve failed.

 “Crucio!” Travers’ cruciatus curse hit Derve in the side and he went down, writhing on the ground.  
 Before Draco could make his way there, a black robed witch appeared beside him, and cast a body bind curse on his assailant. Derve jumped to his feet and stabbed Travers in the chest.

 “That was unecessary!” shrieked Professor McGonagall. “I had already disabled him!”  
 Derve turned away from her so that they were back to back, protecting one another. “I‘m an executioner, an Assassin,” he said, his gaze flicking all around. “I execute those who have forfeited their right to life."

      “And what gives you the right to decide? He should be — judged — before — the — Wizengamot!” McGonagall shouted, casting spells in between her words. Draco looked around wildly and saw the Dark Lord, only metres away. But chillingly, Harry’s body had disappeared in the pandemonium. He inhaled. The mingled scents of battle were such an assault on his senses that he couldn’t pinpoint the source of Harry’s aroma.  
      “Fucking POTTER!” he snarled to himself, prowling forwards towards his quarry.

 He could see about five red-headed Weasleys, Kingsley and Lupin all converging on the Dark Lord, a cloud of spells issuing towards him. None of them made a mark on him. Yet, when he raised his wand, in one motion all those attacking him were blasted backward, flailing and writhing through the air, as Lord Voldemort's magic exploded with the force of a bomb. Draco narrowed his concentration. Blocking out the duel.

 He was two steps away, and the Dark Lord still didn’t turn. With no magical threat at his back he continued to focus forwards. But the snake raised her great, sleek head. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. She was poised to strike. 

 The slash of Draco’s sharpened silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the crowd or the sounds of the giant’s footsteps or the newly arrived group of stampeding house elves, slashing at knees and ankles; and yet, it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke Draco sliced off the great snake's head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light of the fire, landing at Ron Weasley’s feet. Seamlessly, as though they had planned it, Weasley darted forward and stabbed the snake in the eye with an object held in his left hand. A terrible scream of fury tore out of the Dark Lord’s throat, and he turned to face Draco with his arm raised.

 “Protego!”

 The beautiful sound of that voice stopped Draco in his tracks. Pulling off his Invisibility Cloak, Potter stood between Draco and the Dark Lord, outside the shield charm that had burst out from his wand. His green eyes blazed bright and alive in his pale face. The screams on every side had ceased instantly.  
 “I don't want anyone else to help,” Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried across the grounds and disappeared into the woods. “Especially you Draco! Don’t you dare intervene. It’s got to be like this. It's got to be me.”  
 Draco snarled, while the Dark Lord hissed.  
 “Potter doesn't mean that,” he said, his red eyes flicking back and forth, to where Draco was crouched, dagger in one hand, his wand now in the other. “You’re just a pet to him, Cubsitter. Nothing more... He wants you to take his place... ”  
 “Nobody else needs to die,” said Harry simply. “There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives.. .”  
 Draco barely heard their words as Lord Voldemort jeered and taunted, and Harry responded with quiet authority. The conversation intensified and they began to circle one another warily. 

 Hundreds of people now encircled them, watching the two enemies. Draco waited, tensely fixes in place, wanting to attack the Dark Lord and protect Potter, unable to be sure that he would not make things worse.  
 “Who will be next to die in your place?” taunted Lord Voldemort, a mad sneer twisting his face. “Your mother, dead. Sirius, dead. Dumbledore, dead. Even Snape, gone the same way despite all his clever scheming.” No matter what the Dark Lord threw in Harry’s face he remained calm.

 “For the first fucking time in his life!” Draco muttered to himself; his body was coated in a film of glistening sweat, his muscles were taut and the dagger handle bit into his hand. He watched the Dark Lord’s movements minutely, wondering if he could get close enough to land a fatal blow.  
 No-one from the crowd around them was moving. No-one spoke up to interrupt the battle of words that was occurring. Even their breathing seemed to slow and synchronise.  
 “Traitors!” screamed Voldemort, “house elves, and werewolves and pathetic mud bloods...” He spat on the ground. “Your army is nothing compared to my magic, Potter.”  
 “But they aren’t my army. They’re fighting for themselves, for each other. I haven’t led the revolution, I’ve been hidden... chipping away at the objects that tied you to life... they came together on their own. They chose to fight you without any coercion, or even any certainty that they could win...”

 “They certainly aren’t loyal to you, Potter. Nobody here cares, or loves you enough to run forward and take my curse. Nothing will stop you dying now when I strike.”  
 Draco snarled, and took a step forward. The Dark Lord looked towards him, his eyes glowing blood red, he began to laugh insanely, a sound scarier than his anger.  
 “Nothing you have said matters!” shrieked Lord Voldemort. "It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore's, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape's supposed great love! I stole the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny from Dumbledore's grave, Harry Potter!”  
 “Yeah, you did.” said Harry. “You have the more powerful wand. But you’ve destroyed your soul...before you try to kill me, I'd advise you think what you've done . . . . Think, and try for some remorse, Tom. . . .”

 Looking at the pale wand in the Dark Lord’s hand, Draco suddenly began to laugh. All the things that they had said to each other, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had shocked the Dark Lord like Draco’s laughter. His pupils contracted to thin slits, and the skin around his eyes whitened.  
 “You’re both wrong,” said Draco, “the wand that was buried with Dumbledore... it wasn’t the wand you were looking for. I had that... and that wand chose Potter!”

 Lord Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and his his hand was trembling. Blank shock flashed across his face as he stared at Draco. Draco could nearly smell the curse coming, the scent of it building inside the wand pointed at his face. In the last moment, Lord Voldemort spun around, the high voice shrieked as he pointed his wand at Harry:  
 “Avada Kedavra!”  
 “Expelliarmus!”

     Somehow Harry was ready for him, and the bang was like a cannon blast. Golden flames erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marking the point where the spells collided. Lord Voldemort’s inferior wand flew high, pale against the night sky, spinning as a red-glow burst from the fire in a dazzling spray of sparks into the air. The brightened light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Lord Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as the Dark Lord fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward.

      Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Lord Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.

      One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air.

 Draco’s self control disintegrated, there was no room in his mind for fear of rejection, or questions of his worthiness to love the Chosen One. There was nothing left but that feeling, glowing hotter than the bonfire, he leapt over the Dark Lord’s useless body and shoved Potter as gently as his werewolf strength would allow. The shove made him stumble backwards slightly, green eyes wide and phosphorescent. His scent warm, minty, and strong. “Fucking hell, Potter! All the fucking HEROICS?” He caught him before he could fall and pulled him back, pressed up against him. He lowered his head and captured Harry’s lips in a kiss that left them both breathless. “I fucking love you. You massive PRAT...”

    “Merlin’s Beard...” Harry panted, dropping both wands, and running his hand up the back of Draco’s neck; clasping the back of his head, drawing it back to his. Their breaths were soft and heated. Lips warm in the cold air. “I fucking love you too, Draco.”  
   
Their eyes met and held. All around them were the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. The watching crowd, the bereaved, the captured Death Eaters, the dead; they all encircled them. But their leader and symbol, their savior and their guide, was wrapped up in the arms of a werewolf. Black leather, blacker tattoos, skinny frame. Like darkness and light. Harry’s eyes were shut, his body melting into the strong grasp that held him. His tousled dark hair brushing the smooth forehead of his childhood nemesis.

      Their kiss wasn’t the tentative first touch of a strangers lips. It was the meeting of equals. The push and pull of anxiety and peace, the quiet storm, rain in the desert. There was a familiarity, a longing, a passion and certainty. Watching them from the edges Hermione Granger had an expression of unexplainable longing on her face, it was quickly replaced by her usual brisk, no-nonsense demeanour.

 She marched forward into the circle of space around them. “Well boys,” she said crisply, “maybe you can wait to say a proper hello later... Draco, I need you to go to the cottage. Your Mum is there.”  
 They broke apart, and Draco couldn’t suppress a grin at Harry’s sheepish face and the red flush flooding his pale cheeks.  
 “Is she okay?” he asked. “Is that where she went?”  
 “Yes, Mitsy took her to your room at the cottage,” said Granger, with a strange smile. “Someone else can clean up this mess . . .” She tipped her head at the body still lying on the ground behind them. “Go on.”  
 “I’ll come too.” said Harry, plucking the wands off the ground and placing them in a pocket of his robes. As casually as if he had been doing it for years, he reached out and threaded his fingers through Draco’s, giving his tingling hand a gentle squeeze.

      Together they walked through the woods, taking their time. Exhausted and emotional but oddly satisfied in the quiet of each other’s presence.  
 “It’s a nice cottage,” said Harry, as they climbed the steps and Draco beamed.  
 “But of course, Potter, everything I own is ‘nice’!”  
 Kirby and Ellen met them at the front door, nearly bouncing up and down in excitement. “Come On! Come On!” They grabbed hold of the two free hands and pulled them along to the door of Draco’s room.  
 Exchanging confused glances they peered inside and there, propped against the cushions was a regal and pale Narcissa Malfoy. She looked up as they entered and even though she didn’t smile. There was something radiant in her face that Draco had rarely seen. Something like happiness.

———

 Looking up at her son Narcissa felt a surge of pride and affection. For both her boys. There was a radiant happiness in Draco’s face that she hadn’t seen before, and presumably it was due to the bespectacled wizard holding tightly to his hand.  
 “Hello, Draco, Mr. Potter,” she said nodding formally at them. “I hear that you were successful in tonight’s mission?”  
 “Yes, Mother,” said Draco brusquely. “But what happened to you? Granger was very tight lipped.”  
 Narcissa shifted slightly, turning the bundle in her arms so that the round red faced newborn was facing them, as they stared in astonishment, the baby’s soft dark hair turned bubblegum pink. She smiled.  
 “Let me introduce you to your brother, Draco, his name is Theodore Tonks Black."


End file.
